


tumblr fills

by livink



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26047846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livink/pseuds/livink
Summary: my writings fromanthonyed.tumblr.com
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	1. Finding Bucky (stony week)

They win the battle. They lose the tesseract. 

“I was having a heart attack,” Tony points out when Fury glares. “What’s his excuse?”

Captain America stands, head hung and silent, he looks far away from this world, stripped off of his title and for the first time, he looks like a Steve Rogers.

Tony pointedly looks away, something coiling akin to guilt in his gut and he chases that away. “What’s the plan?” He asks Fury. 

“For you people? Nothing,” Fury spits. “SHIELD will handle this from now on. You can help with the clean up.”

“Not a janitor,” Tony takes his leave, marching out of the office and he soothes at the loud slam of the door at his departure. 

He taps away an assuring text to Pepper and Rhodey each, steps into the elevator blindly and right before the door closes, someone catches him by his shoulder and he startles so badly that his chest aches, reminding him of how fresh the attack was.

“Mr Stark,” Rogers starts, looking harried yet sounding composed. “I need to look at the surveillance footage.”

“I thought we did. Six times and they’re still running it somewhere in here for SHIELD cretins to catch what we didn’t. So you can go join them.” Tony rattles off dryly, rubbing his chest with one hand while he jabs the button for lobby with the other. 

Rogers doesn’t bother, making it clear that he’s only in here because he wanted to corner Tony. “Do you have another copy?” He asks, glancing at the shifting numbers as the elevator moves and he turns to Tony urgently, “The other me. He said something and I -,” he pauses, blue eyes bright and searching and Tony tries hard not to blink, as surprised as he is by this new information. 

“You said he was taunting you.”

Rogers looks sick for a second, jaw working tightly and he mutters low, “I may not have told everything.”

Tony blinks. Well, will you look at that, “Captain America; the paradigm of virtue. Did you just admit to lying?”

The elevator pings. Tony steps out, the prickling in his chest now a growing burning sensation, travelling from gut up to his mouth and he swallows with a shudder. 

“Are you coming or not?” He glances over his shoulder. Rogers barely hides his surprise before he follows. 

Tony’s body demands medical attention and vasodilators with an extended leave from physical duty but the six years old Captain America fan in his head is thriving from this attention. He might as well risk another attack if he could be of use for Cap.

-

“You sure about this?” Steve asks, two months after the New York battle. He desperately needs a stylist, Tony keeps telling him. But the man is stubborn and irrationally fond of dull checkered shirts that make Tony run in the other direction. 

_Maybe that’s why I wear them_ , Steve had shrugged casually, when Tony asked him about it and that’s when it properly cemented in Tony’s brain that Steve Rogers is not that much of a stick in the mud. Guy can joke too, apart from looking like the pinnacle of perfection. Not Fair.

Two months later, they’re what Tony begrudgingly (and Steve, with fond exasperation) admits are friends and that’s that.

“I don’t trust them.” Tony murmurs, tapping away at codes, infiltrating yet another layer of security in the SHIELD’s dark system. That’s what he dubs it based on its unusuality and how discretely it was hidden. At least, before Tony spotted the layers and started digging.

“What does that have to do with Bucky?” Steve asks from where he’s sat on the couch, flicking the top end of his New York Times to look at Tony. 

Tony minimises the window and pulls out another, zooms it out and crooks a finger at Steve, calling him in. 

“Look at this,” he says, pointing at the virtual webs of connection he’d spun out of all the datas he’d gathered. “All these people. I know SHIELD is not squeaky clean but some of their connections are concerning. This one,” he jabs at Senator Stern. 

“Tried to take away my suit two years ago. Wanted to make it government property to ensure safety. Personally, I think the government gives shit about people’s safety so I dug up and found he’s had a standing appointment with Obadiah Stane before his passing. Had a few before and one of it was about the secret project Stane had brewing in SI’s basement; trying to replicate the Iron Man armour. They fixed a deal under the table. No government overlooking it.” Tony sinks back in his chair, arms across his chest and surprise flicks across his face when Steve holds out a water bottle for him. 

“Thanks,” he says dubiously, screwing open the cap. Steve grunts distractedly, eyes dancing across the screen, studying all the details. He waits until Tony’s done drinking to ask, “What’s that?” He points at a different folder, on a different window. Tony sits up, holding out the bottle which Steve silently accepts and he taps on that folder. “An algorithm,” he states. 

“For what?”

“That,” Tony leans back, taking in the list for the umpteenth time. “I’m still trying to figure out.”

He follows pages as Steve scrolls down, stopping at the end and he takes a step back, standing next to Tony. “All the Avengers are in there.”

“As well as a disturbing number of children.”

-

Six months after the New York Battle, Tony gets a call from Fury which he promptly dismisses. And another and another and - “Mute.”

He asks Jarvis for his email folder and finds a bunch from [ mariahill@shield.com ](mailto:mariahill@shield.com). He clicks on the latest one and it’s a clipped paragraph demanding him to consider a proposition. He clicks on the attached folder and it’s the Hellicarrier’s engineering plan with its flight system replaced by what looks like a resized repulsor tech. Tony stares at it for a minute before exiting.

“Tell Happy I’m on my way, J.”

-

He brings it up to Steve, over fish chips in the heart of London and he regrets their pick. 

“Should have known to not trust the brochure,” he sighs, giving up on the fries that are too limp to be saved.

“I’m hungry,” Steve mumbles, shoveling another forkful of the equally limp fillet and Tony makes a face at that. “Had worse,” Steve grins.

“Not on my watch,” Tony grumbles. 

“So what did you say?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair once he’s done demolishing both of their orders. 

“To what?” Tony hums, scrolling up his inbox and shooting a quick reply to Pepper. 

There’s a part of him that shrivels when he thinks about her while sitting with Steve, across the ocean. It’s been like that lately. Ever since she walked in on them playing FIFA one evening and quietly reminded Tony that it was supposed to be their date night before she turned away, leaving Tony hugging a pillow to sleep.

“To Hill.” Steve says, “Come on, let’s go.” he catches Tony by his elbow and pulls him towards the exit, Tony’s coat is already in one hand as he holds the door open with the other. 

“We haven’t paid,” Tony tells him, louder when the outside air hits and his voice gets drowned by London traffic. 

The door snaps close with a jingle and Steve hops down onto the pavement with a grin, “I did,” he tugs urgently. 

“Slow down, eager beaver. She’s not running away. In fact, I don’t think she physic-,”

“Please don’t complete that sentence.” Steve warns lightly. 

Tony shuts up, puts up his hands in apology and chuckles when Steve shakes his head. 

It’s barely a walk to their destination. Steve stops by at one of the fruit stalls to buy some apples and oranges and, 

“Blueberries?”

“They’re yours. You didn’t eat your lunch,” Steve hands the box to him, and a bottle of water. “Wash them first.”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “The hassle… I much prefer bananas,” he sniffs, pouring the water over the berries and he shakes them a little. 

“C’mere,” Steve snags them. He holds out the other fruits wordlessly and Tony takes them, watching him march towards the vendor again and for the love of God, he purchases bananas just because Tony asked.

“You’re scary,” Tony tells him when Steve demands he finishes both blueberries and a banana before their journey ends.

-

Peggy Carter is lucid. Sometimes, not so. But she recognizes Tony and twists his ear for missing her birthday. 

“I was busy pulling out your Steve,” Tony lies. He doesn’t say he was flying a nuke into the space and almost died from a heart attack that day.

She forgives him for Steve. He leaves them be for an hour and a half before Steve peeks out of the door and says she’s asking for him. 

“Your father and I founded SHIELD,” she tells them, wrinkled hand in Steve’s careful grasp and she looks adrift as she recalls. “Colonel Phillips was in it because the government needed an insight and what was better than the entire military.”

Tony suspects Steve must have brought up their private little investigation, and he’s miffed, but he nods along.

“We made a lot of adjustments along the way. A lot of compromises,” and she pauses, placing another hand over Steve’s. “Some of them, you wouldn’t approve, but Howard had his reasons.”

Tony’s breath stutters. Starks seem to fuck up through the history. “It must be the gene,” he mutters blithely.

Peggy turns to look at him and she blinks. Something shifts in her eyes and the next second, she’s slapping him hard across the face.

“Ow,” Tony cries.

Steve splutters their names, grabbing onto Peggy’s hands and he asks concernedly if Tony’s okay.

“Tough smack right there, Auntie,” Tony grins.

“Steve Rogers dedicated his mind, his body, his life to the SSR and to this country. Not to your bank account.” Peggy snarls, her shaky voice breaking in anger even as she holds composed under Steve’s hands. 

Tony stares at her, unblinking. “Peggy?” he calls faintly, blood sizzling up his veins, and he clenches his fists, sitting straight in his chair. “Peggy, it’s me. Tony.”

But Peggy Carter is lost. Somewhere between old memories and contained anger, and she sniffles, “I will not let you replicate the serum.”

-

 _No._ He sends to Hill.

 _No._ He receives from Pepper when he asks if she wants to go on an impromptu vacation with him. 

No. He tells her when she asks if he’ll ever put down the armour.

No, he tells her when she asks if he wants to have a kid one day. 

“White picket fence is a fairytale, babe. Howard fucked me over seven ways to hell. I wouldn’t be a good father or a husband.”

“You have potential,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back, manicured nails scraping soothingly over his scalp and Tony sighs. He leans back into her and she secures her hold around him. “I love you, you know that?” She asks softly. 

“Love you too,” he breathes, sinking into the mattress and the pillow and he’s so warm and safe, he’s tipping out of consciousness. 

“I know,” she says, one arm around Tony’s midriff tightening before it loosens. “It’s not working is it?”

Tony stops breathing. Pepper’s fingers don’t, sticking to their rhythm and she’s so strong, she’s lending her strength for him. She presses a kiss over his head and she tells him gently, “We’re not working.”

“We want different things,” Tony works his mouth. Sleep lost to nerves and the cruel ache in his heart. 

She says, “I want a kid, or two. I want a family. I want to settle down when I’m forty.”

“I want to save the world,” says Tony.

-

Tony stares at the text, Saturday morning bright as the Sun beams from over the adjacent building. Rays spilling in rainbows over the white tiles of his living room as he sits gloomily at the dining table. 

_Did you find out?_

He discards his half-written reply, taps back, eyes catching Fury’s 21 unreplied texts and voice messages and he ignores them all. 

“Call Rhodey.”

The dial tone goes; on and on and on and -

“Hello?”

“Can you come over?”

A short pause, and then, “I’m not in the States, Tony.”

Tony taps twice over the table; two fingers up and down and up and down, a little over the edge and he says, “They were murdered.”

“Who?”

“Howard.” Tony stops. “Mom and him. They were murdered. It wasn’t a car crash.”

There’s a beat of silence down the line. Longer than before. Strenuous and Tony can hear when Rhodey pulls in a breath. 

“How did you find out?”

Long story is, he started looking into super serum replication. Found the connection between Peggy’s accusation and his dear old father and Tony latched onto until the report ended at Howard Stark's successful experimentation in 1991. He dug deeper and he recovered filth.

Short story is, “I hacked into SHIELD's server.”

There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end but Rhodey doesn’t follow through. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. There’s a slight hesitation and he adds, “I’ll be over next weekend.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony says. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.” 

The truth is, Tony cannot hold it in until next weekend.

He calls Steve.

-

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, half in awe, half in agony.

“Easy,” Tony says, pulling out the file JARVIS has picked up for him. “When you dig at the right spot, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He takes a step back and watches every flicker of emotions that flit across Steve’s face; from relief to horror to determination. 

“They brainwashed him,” Tony briefs, “Electric shocks to meddle with his memories and they groomed him to be their weapon.”

“He doesn’t look a year old,” Steve sounds faint, sick to his bone, and he shakes minutely when he reaches to touch the image. “I went back. I swear. I went back.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He is. Truthfully, he is. But it’s largely polluted by his boiling rage. The need for retribution. 

He grips onto the logical part of his brain and he turns away. Dum-E nudges his elbow, holding out a wrench and Tony is not working on anything that needs it but he grabs it for the desperate need to ground himself. Channels all the vengeance into the metal and he’ll fling it later; hard and swift and it’ll break all of his glass panels and he’ll be satisfied for a bit.

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, rough edged and unaware.

“I was looking for my parents’ murderer,” Tony tells him.

-

There’s a period between Steve’s departure and Rhodey’s arrival that Tony feels slightly unhinged. Prone to stupidity more than usual and he refuses to call Pepper because she deserves better. 

They just parted, he knows she loves him, and he knows he loves her. But he’s too fragile for her. If she touches him, he’ll shatter and she’ll break her skin and bones trying to hold him. He told Steve to leave - “I need some time to digest this” - and he waits for Rhodey to arrive to get drunk on whiskey, rum and too much skittles.

They puke rainbow the next morning. 

“I’m never doing this,” Rhodey swears, but he’d broken that over ten times going steady. Tony grunts at him and wipes his face.

They have brunch in front of the TV and Tony grunts from his hangover headache, “I think I have feelings for Steve.”

Rhodey chokes on orange juice, spits it all over the coffee table and Tony groans in disgust. “Exactly,” Rhodey says. “You’re emoting what I feel.”

He piles plies over plies of tissues over the spill and turns to Tony. “You’re serious.”

“Don’t,” Tony says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with that. He sighs. “I guess.”

Rhodey chews on his cronut thoughtfully and makes a face. He switches the cronut with a strawberry sprinkled donut and asks, “Does he know?”

“No!” Tony seizes, his own big bite of the chocolate sprinkled suddenly dry and lumpy in his esophagus. He swallows painfully and shrugs, “I don’t know? I didn’t tell him.”

“Are you going to?” Rhodey asks, not missing a beat.

“I don’t know,” Tony snaps. “What is this? Make Tony feel bad Sunday?”

Rhodey flicks a sprinkle at his face. “You brought it up first,” he says, facing back the TV, and he switches the channel. “I was trying to enjoy my hangover donuts in peace and you ruined it.” 

Tony grumbles something under his breath but otherwise he lets it go.

-

“Let me know if I have to give a shovel talk,” Rhodey says conversationally, stepping into his War Machine armour. 

Tony punches his fists into his pants’ pockets and leans against the rail, “Not happening,” he tells him. 

“Don’t drink without me.” The helmet closes, the eye slits come to life. 

Tony grins at him. “I thought it’s not happening again.”

“It’s not,” comes the mechanical voice. Rhodey takes a step closer and ruffles his hair with a gauntleted hand. 

Tony swats at it, hurting himself more than the other and he hisses, glaring at the mechanically cackling Rhodey.

“Take care.” Rhodey says before he shoots up into the night sky, like a blinding star, growing further and further out of reach and Tony whispers a thank you after him. 

-

Two days later, someone disengaged JARVIS and tried to break in. 

“They must have found out about my SHIELD servers’ break ins,” Tony groans, scrubbing his face as he paces.

JARVIS had sent out a help signal to Steve’s phone before he was shut down. Tony was awake during the attempt so he managed to not only stop it but garner evidence in the process as well. 

“Do _not_ come,” he tells Steve over the phone. “They don’t know your involvement. Let’s keep it that way.”

Thirty minutes later, Steve’s in the elevator.

“Let him in,” Tony permits weakly. The door opens, and Steve walks in, calm and composed. His eyes however are a whirlwind of storms brewing up an apocalypse. 

They study Tony from head to toe and all over until satisfied, and he nods, “Are you all right?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony exhales, turning towards the kitchen. “There’s no need for you to come.”

He fetches a glass and fills it with water, holding it out for Steve. Once taken, he fetches another and repeats the process, draining the content in a second. Steve offers his for taking and Tony chugs that down too.

“How are you?” Steve asks.

Tony leaves the glasses in the sink and moves to the living room. “I’m fine. Startled. But, fine.” He insists. “Are you staying over?” There’s a lilt to his question, an accidental giveaway; hopeful. 

“Yes,” Steve says. Period. No place for arguments and it’s definite. _I’m staying. Whether or not you like it._

Tony glances at him over a shoulder, “You know where your room is. I’ve got some work to do, I’ll be in the shop.”

Steve follows him instead. Sits on the couch and reads a book while Tony does his work. When the Sun comes up, he excuses himself to freshen up and make breakfast. When he returns, Tony’s face down on the couch, drooling into Steve’s jacket.

-

Steve stays. 

“I’m not running a free bed-and-breakfast,” Tony tells him on day seven. 

“Nope,” Steve agrees. “It’s bed, breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks,” he crunches pointedly on the Cheetos. Tony glares at him.

The alarm blares. The lights shut down. JARVIS is unreachable again. Tony’s insides clamp down painfully and he shoves the sickening feel away to retrieve him. 

Before he could move, he’s shoved down hard behind the couch and something shatters in the near distance. Once, twice and then several times. 

He grappled for Steve but couldn’t find him. He tries not to worry about JARVIS, confident he’ll find his own way back but -

“Steve,” he hisses into the darkness, temporarily blinded and he’s shivering from fright. His entire core is shut down; from electricity to the armour’s response signal. He feels as naked and vulnerable as he was in that cave in Afghanistan but this time, it’s in his own home. 

“Steve?” he calls again, crawling blindly. Something breaks the window and lands next to him and hits his toe. Barely a time to react, and he’s flung across the room and he only remembers a clean thud to his skull before he blacks out.

-

He wakes up with JARVIS’s name on the tip of his tongue and an irritating beeping sound surrounding him. He swats at it. Someone catches his hand.

“He’s fine,” They say. It’s Steve. “Natasha fixed him.”

Tony probably scrapes his throat trying to swallow dryly and rasps out, “He doesn’t need fixing.”

“Of course,” Steve hums, holding out a glass of water and Tony struggles to take; hand shaking like a leaf. He curses and Steve stands, tipping the glass closer to his mouth, placing the end of the straw in between his lips and he casually confesses, “I thought I’d lost you,” while Tony sips.

“Thought I killed you with my own hand.”

“There was,” Tony pauses to cough, “A grenade,” he finishes exhaustedly.

“I threw you across the room,” Steve informs in that same disconnected voice. Tony catches his free hand and gives it a squeeze, albeit weakly. Steve’s hand starts to shake.

“How long?” Tony asks. 

“Two days,” Steve exhales, his head falls, forehead hits the edge of the bed and there’s a shiver that wrecks through his spine as he holds onto Tony’s hand through it. “Fuck,” he swears airily. 

Tony shifts a little so he could card his other fingers through Steve’s hair and pets him idly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” He asks.

Steve nods, “We caught him.”

-

Turns out, Fury had Tony tracked without his consent and Natasha was strategically there to shoot Bucky Barnes in the abdomen. Two bullets through and through; both in the right hypogastric region and Steve got there just in time to knock him unconscious.

“Sorry, I don’t really know where to keep him,” Steve says abashedly, explaining why Bucky Barnes is now in the tower in Hulk’s containment, being treated by Bruce and Helen Cho. 

“Where else would he go?” Tony shrugs, adjusting the strap holding his broken left arm for the nth time.

When he looks up, Steve’s staring at him with some skin to bewilderment and fondness. He doesn’t know where he falls in between those two emotions so he huffs disgruntledly and tugs again at the strap. “I hate this.”

“Leave it be,” Steve’s voice is soft, his fingers gentle when they pry away Tony’s. “I know what you’re doing,” he tells him.

“What?” Tony scoffs.

Steve’s eyes are a brilliant shade of blue and they stay fixed on his as he fixes the strap, Tony’s collar and he says, “Sometimes when I look at you, what I feel shows and every time you catch that instance, you look away. You change topics or you do something absurd to burst the moment. Either you choose to pretend that you don’t know how I feel for you or you don’t feel the same so you’re trying to be polite for my sake.”

Tony’s throat runs dry. This time, he can’t look away. Try as he might, his breath catches and his heart stutters. “The former,” he confirms shamefully. 

Steve’s hand over his chest stills, plastered over his breastbone, fingers tickling the edge of his collar and he asks, “Why?”

“Because I’m terrified of the idea that if I tell you how I feel, you will reject me.” Tony pauses. And then, because he’s got nothing else to lose, he adds, “There’s also the fact that you deserve so much better than me.” 

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat and Tony glances at it distractedly, promptly snapping back to the sea of blue; now bleeding black, inside out. 

“What if I want you?” Steve licks his lips.

Tony follows that motion, eyes zeroing in on there. Longing and lust all melting into something warm and thick and he rasps, “Then you have me.”

-

“This is so not how I imagined it.” Tony pulls away. He wastes two seconds glaring at his useless left arm and goes back in. 

Steve’s chuckle breaks into a gasp when Tony yanks at his hair hard, nips at his lips, licks into his mouth and kisses him stupid. 

“This is so not how I imagined it.” he groans.

-

“How’d you imagined it?” Steve asks, pressing the elevator button up and he turns to face Tony.

“Do you imagine making out with me often?” There’s a leer to his smile, hidden behind mischief and pure Steve-ness and Tony leans in to taste it.

“I imagine doing a lot of things to you, Rogers. Kissing is just the tip of the iceberg.”

-

They step out of the observation room; Barnes still drugged up to the gills until his bullet wounds heal and Bruce kindly let Tony know that his penthouse is destroyed while Steve winced. 

Tony enters the elevator and he’s lost for a second before Steve follows in and presses the button to his guest suite. He takes Tony’s uninjured hand and kisses the inside of his wrist.

“In your imaginations,” he asks, still not letting up and Tony snorts at him. But Steve persists, “Am I getting fucked or are you?” He’s a little flushed in the cheeks and that’s all there is to give away his abashment. 

Tony hums, deliberately stalling. “How about I show you?” he offers impishly. 

Steve stares him down, full Captain mode, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re not doing any strenuous activities until you heal.”

Tony stares him back, “Pretty sure, sucking your cock doesn’t fall in strenuous activities. Or laying there, letting you fuck me,” he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “Although, riding you would probably have to wait.”

Steve shudders. The elevator door splits open and Tony steps out.

-

Steve wasn’t kidding about the celibacy. Tony looks at him gravely and declares, “I am injured and horny and you are making this especially difficult for me.”

He receives a soft shirt to his face and a towering Steve who orders, “Stay still,” while he methodically helps Tony out of the arm sling and his t-shirt and into a new one. “I’m not doing your pants,” he draws the line.

Ten minutes later, Tony climbs onto the bed and shuffles closer to Steve. “I’m holding you accountable for this,” he points at his half-erection.

Steve rolls his eyes and coaxes him into a prone position; tucks his broken arm safely out of the way and Tony’s body snuggly into his curves. There’s a hard line pressing into Tony’s ass cleft and he digs his fingers into Tony’s hip when Tony tries to rub up. 

“Stop,” he warns, lips brushing over Tony’s nape. Breath hot and wet and something clench and shiver in Tony’s chest. “Once you’re healed, I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your name so, be patient. For now.”

“Fucking tease.” Tony growls into his pillow. Steve’s thumb over the arch of his hip bone rubs a circle and he nips at Tony’s lobe, “I know.”

There’s a war coming on; it’s somewhere near the horizon and Tony can almost taste it on his tongue, his bones ache from the revelations. There’s a prisoner of war two floors below who needs more than regular healing. Upstairs, his penthouse is in crumbles but that’s for next morning. Along with the calls he has to make to Pepper and Rhodey to elaborate what short-sentenced assurance Steve has given them when he was out of it. 

For now, he’s right where he wants to be and he savours the feel; grabs onto Steve’s arm around his chest, sinks closer into his hold and he falls asleep to the pulse of Steve’s heartbeats. 


	2. coffee shop au! (stony week)

“You have absolutely no concern for your safety!” Steve snarls, barging through the broken door, hanging precariously by its hinge. 

Tony steadfastly ignores him, heading towards the crushed counter; Hulk’s fist print is still fresh over what had once been a luxurious marble surface. Tony spares a mournful look at it before blasting it clean and stomping over the rubbles to the other side. 

Steve’s frustration comes out as a hot huff of breath. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waves, almost tripping over spilled syrup before he reached the machine. After a quick study, he taps on the various buttons feeling every bit ungraceful in his still gauntleted hand while Captain America yaps away in the background. Then he waits. 

Steve’s angry lecture is like an odd balm these days, soothing him inside out instead of how it used to make him so angry during their early days and Tony’s good at muting it out now. Just a background noise of a barking puppy while he searches for something more potent, more - ah hah!

The machine beeps, and Tony’s already there, attending to it. His name sounds exhausted and resigned, spilling out of Steve and he hums in acknowledgement; lets him know he’s still listening. 

“Do you want a shot?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at the blue blur. There’s a huff and tired strides and he’s not surprised when Steve says, “Move,” nudging him aside. Tony picks his glass and buries his nose into it; inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee like a drowned man. 

He takes a long sip, watching over the rim as Steve empties the bottle into the second glass and turns around, slouching against the counter next to Tony; red, blue and white next to hot red and gold, overlooking the aftermath of another battle in New York City. 

The entire street is closed and there are some officers picking up what’s left post battle. There wasn’t any casualty except for one destroyed block because one rowdy doom-bot thought it would be funny to poke at Bruce’s butt. 

The Sun is just rising, and Tony’s barely standing after two nights of no sleep; thanks to the coffee. Next to him, Steve swallows his rum and coffee concoction with a weary sigh. Tony takes another sip of his own drink, tongue feeling like lead, tasting nothing and says, “I’m sorry.”

He could argue for a week how he wasn’t wrong, and he has a calculation to prove it. But he’s too tired to do that now and amidst the destruction, the sunrise looks awful pretty. His head feels heavy, and he doesn’t want to argue with Steve. 

He just wants to stand here in a destroyed cafe and try to _ be _ for a minute or two, and it feels nice standing next to Steve like this for once; no yelling, no hot tempers. Tony can pull a punch once so he does.

There’s a tired sigh and a low rumble of, “Stop trying to die all the time,” from Steve which makes him turn his head, look at the side of Steve’s face; smudged with dirt and hair poking out in all directions; his cowl is down and there’s a tear running from the collar down his right shoulder, pink skin blinking contrastingly from his pale complexion; telltale of a freshly healed wound. 

Tony’s sluggish brain is too busy thinking of upgrades to avoid a repeat he doesn’t realise he’s reaching to touch Steve until he already is; one gauntleted finger trailing from the lateral end of his right clavicle, splitting the fabric wider as he goes up to the base of Steve’s throat and then, he stops. 

The realisation comes in a staggering sharp gasp as his eyes snap up, locking with bright blue ones and he’s numb at the same time he’s a raging storm. There’s a war in him locked in a box and his eyes scream while his throat shut down. 

Steve’s grip is a gentle press of pressure around his wrist; gloved hand around gauntlet and Tony swallows; his head a buzz of 48hours lack of sleep while his body is a wildfire of its own. 

The blue of Steve’s eyes darken a little, drowned by pools of blackness and he’s dead serious when he says, “I mean it.  _ Don’t _ you dare to die on me.” 

There’s a surreal minute when Tony’s lost in the motion of his mouth; pink lips and a sharp jaw. Loaded request which sounds like a plea the more he replays it in his head. The blue and green swirls in Steve’s eyes, the absolute undivided focus he has on Tony and the way he exhales through parted lips, the way his gaze falls to Tony’s mouth and -

Something rudely crashes near them making them jolt apart.

Barton limps towards the counter, pulling out a sandwich from inside the display cabinet and he flicks something off of the bread before shoving it inside his mouth. Tony blinks at him, jaw slack and he startles again when Natasha’s voice comes from his right; her body only an inch away, fiddling with the buttons of the coffee machine as she grumbles about the lack of any alcohol. Tony turns to look at Steve, who’s sipping on his coffee innocently. 

There’s another crash, louder, ground quaking and they don’t have to look to know it’s Thor. Barton wordlessly picks another sandwich and tosses it in his direction. There’s a soft plop when Thor catches and asks sadly, “No more shawarma?”

Tony makes a face, recalling the awful taste of their first post-battle meal. “We’ll have something at home later,” Steve promises responsibly. Tony rolls his eyes and offers his cup when Natasha makes a pained noise next to him. She snatches it and empties the content in one chug. 

“Am I allowed to say finally?” Barton pipes up, munching with open mouth as he stares pointedly in between Steve and Tony. Tony follows his stare and staggers away like he’d stepped on a live wire. Steve the same, dropping Tony’s hand as if burnt.

Barton lets out the most deprived sigh and announces, “I guess not.”


	3. emh (stony week)

Steve startles awake at the first blare of the alarm. Body methodically working to push him out of the bed; feet carrying him to the closet and hands reaching for his uniform and he’s slowly starting to seep into reality but just not yet.

Top? Check. Pants? Check. Utility belt, shoes and cowl? Check, check and check.

The moment he picks up the shield, he’s fully aware. All those words reading out their mission stringing together making perfect sense and Steve calls in his Captain’s voice;  _ AVENGERS ASSEMBLE! _

He doesn’t look twice, slashing through their enemies without a pause. Which is probably why he doesn’t realise the difference; that and the fact that he’d only been an hour into a deep sleep. But then the chatter starts with spluttering giggles and laughs and Steve catches a glimpse of Natasha’s smile. Natasha. Which is disconcerting.

“What?” He grunts, splicing a doom bot’s head with his shield. Hawkeye’s full on cackling. Iron Man is strangely quiet. Thor strikes a circle of bots he’s trapped in with lightning and beams at him. 

It’s Hulk who smirks; “Captain and Hulk, matchy pants.”

Steve punches a bot and looks down, eyes widening in honor at his exposed legs. 

He’s not completely naked but close enough and he thinks he knows who’s fault that is. A sharp cut to his left flank reminds him of his priority and he aims his shield in that direction. There is an army of doom bots closing in on him and before he could ask, Iron Man is lifting him out of the danger. 

“This is not over,” he promises Tony, landing on a rooftop with a grateful wave.

And he keeps that promise, cornering Tony post battle with a flat, “What is this?”

Tony immediately puts up his hands, face-plate up, and he looks genuinely guilty, “I ran out of fabric,” he says. Steve narrows his eyes at him.

“I swear! You’re so  _ big _ and I ran out of fabric trying to keep up with your destructive tendencies.”

“So you made him booty shorts!” Clint wheezes, bent over, barely holding himself together. Steve consciously places the shield in front of him, below hips. 

Apart from the immodesty, the shorts are very comfortable and enabling. Hence why Steve didn’t notice until pointed out. 

He directs a grim stare at Tony. “Is this a joke?”

“No!” Tony colors, hand going up to his hair and he scratches his nape, looking down at his feet. “It wasn’t - I didn’t. I’m sorry,” he blurts out palely. 

Steve forgives him because why wouldn’t he? 

“Let’s go home,’’ he sighs, watching the team disperse with various efforts to hide their amusement at their leader in a pair of skimpy booty shorts. 

Except for Tony who waits for Steve so they could go back home together and he apologizes one more time, covering a compliment shortly after with a cough. Steve still heard it; “They look good.”

“Of course I do,” Steve says matter-of-factly, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist and stepping onto his boots. “I have the rear for it.” 

The face-plate slams close suddenly, tearing away whatever response Tony had for him. But Steve doesn’t need to hear it. Not when he could feel Tony’s gauntleted hand squeezing his arse cheek. 


	4. secrets (stony week)

Tony asks him to get ready, get in the car and refuses to tell him where they’re heading.

“What is it?” Steve tries for the nth time. Each time, the evasion varies; this time it’s a mischievous smirk with a little tilt to his head so Tony could regard him over the rim of his sunglasses.

He looks great, as usual. Dressed in smart casual; white V-neck with a black suit jacket and a pair of dark jeans with black and white sneakers. And as usual, Steve feels inadequate in his own too casual wear; just a white tee and blue jeans. But what’s new with that except he got used to it and, hey! Look on the bright side; they kinda match.

“You’re unnecessarily secretive,” he says, goading Tony. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony has gotten used to all his tricks and he just shrugs, looking ahead at the road.

Sighing, Steve goes back to watching the scenery outside; mostly greenery now that they’ve passed the city. He’s growing more and more curious, restless from it and he gnaws on the edge of his thumb until Tony gently pries his hand away and secures it atop his thigh. Steve lets out another sigh.

“For someone who’s known for upholding virtues, you’re very impatient,” Tony hums, thumb rubbing small circles over Steve’s knuckle. 

“You’re testing my virtues,” Steve huffs. 

Tony laughs, a soft bark that dims into a low chuckle, and he brings Steve’s hand up to his mouth to press a kiss. Eyes still on the long winding road as he murmurs, “Whatever floats your boat, darling.”

There’s a warmth that blooms in Steve’s chest, the feel of Tony’s lips along with the coarse brush of his moustache tickling a smile which he bites back out of childish petulance. But of course, Tony senses that, and Tony smiles for him instead.

“Ten more minutes and you’ll get your answer,” he promises with a squeeze. 

Steve flips their hands over so he’s on top and he gently coaxes Tony’s fingers apart to wedge his in between, and he returns the squeeze. 

Ten minutes later, as promised, Steve gets his answer.

They drive through a large set of gates into a gravelly driveway that ends at an enormous mansion.

“What’s this place?” Steve asks, craning his neck trying to look at his fill from inside the car. Tony comes to a stop in front of the building, doesn’t even bother to park before he offs the engine. Wordlessly, he opens his side of the door and gets out; Steve watches him go with a slack jaw until the passenger side door is opened and Tony holds out a hand. 

“Welcome,” he says grandly. “To my childhood mansion.”

Steve takes his hand, still processing the information. He walks with Tony up the staircase and right before they reach the landing Steve stops. 

Tony stops with him, one step above and Steve tugs him closer so he could lean and whisper it like a dirty little secret, “I thought you hate it here.” 

And he’s sure, he knows this like he knows the color of Tony’s hair is not black but the darkest of brown. So he feels precarious where he stands; if Tony denies this fact, that would mean Steve doesn’t know who Tony is at all. 

Tony falls back in step with him, standing side by side and he assures gently, “I do. But there’s one spot I adored. The one thing in this hell which never failed to keep me safe and I want to show that to you.”

Okay, Steve thinks. Okay yeah, he can get with it. He nods. Tony smiles and squeezes his hand lightly before starting to lead again.

They don’t even go through the house. Instead, Tony takes a circular route around it and at one point they have to crawl through tall hedges when Steve prays to all higher forces to not get him stuck and makes it through. 

Tony takes his hand and breaks into a light jog before Steve could even stand straight. "I've always dreamt of doing this," he giggles, exuding happiness so much so that it’s infectious. Steve laughs with him. 

He realises they're running across a backyard - a well kept lawn telling Tony's still paying for the mansion's maintenance - towards a grand fountain. 

The closer they get, the clearer Steve sees; all the details in the carvings and the statues. When they reach it, he has to touch it to confirm that it is indeed marble. "Wow," he exhales, transfixed and understandably in awe. 

Next to him, Tony's still clutching his hand, giving a few seconds break before tugging Steve to go around the fountain. Inspect its architecture at all angles. 

"Wow," Steve repeats. 

Tony chuckles, clearly amused but he's got the same look as Steve's on his face as he confides, "I used to sneak out here sometimes. It was my secret hideout. Exactly, this spot."

Steve follows his gaze and finds himself looking at a small square inlet at the base of the fountain's behind. He imagines a smaller Tony, scrawny and short squeezing himself into that tight space and feels all the awe sucked out of him at once. 

He looks away from that spot to Tony, squeezing his hand and he smiles back when Tony smiles at him. Something amiss in that tilt. Then he huffs a little laugh, giving a short swing to their clasped hands as he gazes wondorously at the lawn. 

"I used to dream of bringing a friend. Or a companion," he adds softly. "And it's always us running across the lawn like we just did and it'll be night with too many stars in the sky to count and we'll kiss right here." 

"Hopeless romantic, then," Steve hums flatly, teasing.

"As if you weren't." Tony scoffs, light hearted, hands still swinging in between them and he looks brilliant under the evening sun. 

The golden ray spilling from west, setting and in it's brightness, it teases out the browns from Tony's coiffed hair. Some of them look like gold glitters and Steve inhales sharply, falling in love with him all over again. 

He steps into Tony's space, cutting whatever sentence spilling out of his mouth short and with his free hand, he tucks a stray strand behind Tony's ear. "You weren't even listening," Tony shakes his head at him. 

"I can't," Steve admits, still entranced by the moment, enchanted by Tony and he tells him truthfully, "I'm too busy looking at you." 

He catches the small stutter to Tony's breath. The short and sharp inhale which he masks with a too loose shoulders and an impish smile, "Like what you see?" 

"Love," Steve corrects, thumb curving along the shape of Tony's lips and he leans in, low voice murmuring, "I  _ love, _ what I see," before he tilts his head and fits his mouth snuggly around Tony's. Starting slow and soft and he presses closer, moves the same until they're all that they can feel. 

The evening Sun is warm on their backs, birds chirping in the distance and Steve pulls away a little only to stamp soft kisses all around Tony's mouth before going in again. Right then when the fountain starts, spewing water into the air, some of it sprinkling onto them and Tony laughs into their kiss. 

Later, when they're driving back home, Steve turns away from the night sky and asks him, "Why did you want to show me that?" 

The road's clear but Tony makes sure before he glances at him, the soft smile on his face from when they left the place still unwilted and he shrugs as if it's obvious; "Because you make me feel the same."

_ The one thing in this hell which never failed to keep me safe. _


	5. bots as matchmakers (stony week)

One of the cleaning bots likes Steve, it’s no big deal.

“It’s a crush, sir,” JARVIS insists and Tony’s ready to mock but there’s a sharp conscience which bites, saying he might offend the entire robotic field with his quip so he shuts up.

“How bad is it?” he asks instead. 

There’s a pause and a vague, “Not too bad. She’s very caring for the Captain’s wellbeing,” is all JARVIS says.

-

One morning, Tony stumbles into the kitchen after an all nighter to the peculiar sight of a cleaning bot propped on the kitchen counter, near the coffee machine. 

When he reaches to pick up the bot, Steve stops him with a hand to his elbow, and he secretly shares that, “She’s making me a coffee, give her a minute.”

Tony gawks when the bot does exactly that; sliding out an inlet to fetch the filled cup, and it buzzes its way across the counter to where Steve stands, flipping pancakes. Steve thanks her with an affectionate pet and she whirs in excitement.

Later in the workshop, he stares at various footage of the bot interacting with Steve and comments numbly, “You said it wasn’t bad.”

JARVIS says nothing, but Tony imagines the smug expression to his codes, anyway.

He freezes a particular footage and expands it, “You said it wasn’t bad,” he repeats with added weight. The image of the bot resting atop of Steve’s chest while he sleeps stares back. 

“Indeed, Sir,” JARVIS replies, “It’s not bad at all. The Captain seems to suffer fewer night terrors in Miss Clean’s presence.”

“Miss Clean.”

“Yes, Sir. The Captain thought it would be proper to name her.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing now? Tony bristles. “You’re encouraging his relationship with a bot. Stop encouraging his relationship with a bot.”

JARVIS’s answer is a flat, “I don’t know how that is wrong, Sir. According to my readings, Miss Clean and the Captain’s relationship is no difference from ours.” Then, in a more clipped tone, he adds, “I suspect you’re just jealous.  _ Sir _ .”

Tony mutes him.

-

It’s eerie. Wherever Steve goes, Miss Clean goes; like a duckling imprinted on its mother. Where Steve sits, she’s there; whether next to him or by his feet. Tony has to mind her when he claims his usual seat next to Steve during movie nights. Sometimes, she’s in the middle, her round curve buzzing and poking at Tony’s hip; keeping him away from sliding closer to Steve.

No. He’s not jealous. 

She sleeps in Steve’s room, on his bed and she’s probably seen Steve naked more than JARVIS at this rate. No, Tony is definitely not jealous of a cleaning bot.

-

“I want one,” Clint says longingly one afternoon. Watching Miss Clean putter around the kitchen trying to help while Steve makes sandwiches for lunch. 

-

“I’m just saying,” Tony hiccups, “I can dismantle her right now.” The wrench in his hand is a warning. 

DUM-E steals it from him, whirring away with loud beeps. Tony’s too drunk for a roundabout chase so he slides to the floor, elbows on knees and head in hands. 

Another hiccup.

“If I may, Sir,” JARVIS speaks softly, courtesy of his excellent coding. “You should have accepted the Captain’s proposal.”

Tony snorts, breaking into a maniacal laughter and he falls on his back; cool linoleum like a shock to his system, an instant sobering agent. JARVIS makes it sound like a marriage proposal when it was just Steve asking him out for a date. And Tony said, no.

“You know why, J,” he sighs, staring at the stark white ceiling above him. 

JARVIS doesn’t pause, “Because you believe he deserves better, Sir.”

“I do.”

A weighted pause. “But he’s substituted you with Miss Clean instead.”

Tony blinks. JARVIS is not wrong. But, “I can dismantle her right now.”

-

Inherently, Tony thinks while lying on his king sized bed recovering from an appropriately king sized hangover, it’s JARVIS who controls all the bots in the tower.

-

Two days later, Steve’s in the workshop discussing upgrades with Tony while Miss Clean and DUM-E whiz around playing chase. Or so Tony thinks until Miss Clean weaves dangerously in between Steve’s feet, tripping him into Tony.

Tony catches him - of course he does - and then he realises that he’s got an armful of Steve without their usual armours in between them; bare skin touching at some places and Steve’s warm and heavy. Tony can both hear and feel him breathing and it’s so surreal that he aches when Steve pulls away. 

“Sorry,” he blushes prettily. 

Tony scratches his head and waves it off, “No problem.”

-

“You planned it didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”

-

It keeps happening.

Tony sits next to Steve during their movie night. Miss Clean whirs away from her spot in between them and falls off of the couch, settling snuggly between their feet instead.

Steve has a nightmare one night. Tony wakes up to a frantic Miss Clean climbing up his legs, JARVIS explaining that she’d come to fetch him to help Steve.

Tony upgrades her; adds tiny arms so she could hold things. Steve comes running, thought he’d lost Miss Clean and when he sees her on Tony’s lap, chirruping happily after a successful test run, he kisses Tony’s cheek and thanks him.

-

“JARVIS,” Tony says one day, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Are you going to say yes, Sir?”

Tony thinks about it. He still believes that Steve deserves better, but then there’s Steve, happy to be with just Tony. Smiles and laughs like Tony’s the best thing that has ever happened to him. Looks at him like he’s both stars and the moon and Tony loves him. Of course, he does. 

It’s why he thinks Steve deserves better after all.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Maybe.”

-

“JARVIS said you called,” Steve walks in, Miss Clean in tow, speed crashing into DUM-E who beeps fondly at her. 

Steve’s gaze follows them, Tony’s too, and both of them noticed it at the same time, which is as horrifying as it is shocking. 

There’s a bouquet in DUM-E claw; of red roses, blue hydrangeas, and white baby breaths which Steve accepts mechanically when handed over. He looks at Tony, stunned.

Tony doesn’t know what it is, didn’t remember planning this, but he has an inkling who did and he puts his trust in them. “Go on,” he croaks nervously, “Read it.”

Steve does, out aloud, “Dear Steve, if you don’t mind, please ask me out on a date again. I’d like to say, yes.”

“Is that right?” His blue eyes a wide, disbelief and pure delight brimming in abundance. 

Tony puts down the welding torch before he walks over and pulls Steve into a deep kiss. Both Miss Clean and DUM-E chirrupping excitedly in the background and Tony presses a smatter of  _ yesses _ all over Steve’s laughing face. 

-

“Are you happy now?” Tony asks, rolling over onto his back, smiling at the distant sound of the shower running; a reminder of who’s in there. 

JARVIS response is a curious question, “Are  _ you _ , Sir?”

“I am,” Tony answers easily, “Very much so.”

“Glad to hear, Sir.” Obviously he is, that meddling little creation of his. 

Tony shakes his head, fond and he doesn’t forget to say, “Thank you, JARVIS.”


	6. steve's sleeves (buckytony)

This is the third time Steve catches him.

“Bucky!” Steve barks, watching with an open mouth and shocked eyes as the man scamper. Knife in one hand and a mutilated shirt in another, right sleeve dragging after his trail as its left sleeve remains an evidence, marking where he’d sat half a second ago.

First time around, everything had happened in a flash that Steve’s left wondering if it was real or not. Second time, Steve only saw the crumpled remain of the mutilated left sleeve. Now, for the third time, Steve has caught him red-handed and that jerk fucking fled. He cannot believe it.

If those were anyone else's shirts, Steve would have ignored, but those were his! So, Steve set a trap.

With the help of Friday (under Tony’s approval) he followed Bucky’s trail and he left one of his old sweat shirt – black, most crucially – at where Friday confided, “Sargent Barnes does his works on his modification.”

On real time view, Steve watches from behind the wall as Bucky glares at the shirt; weighing the risks before he knowingly steps into the trap. Inwardly, Steve goes, “Yes!” Outwardly, Steve hunches lower; makes himself smaller. He may have giggled, but that’s between Friday and Steve.

It happens so fast. Like, lightning fast.

On second, Bucky's picking up the shirt and the next, he's gone.

"BUCKY!" Steve bellows, running in the direction where Bucky came from but at its end, he's not there.

-

"Is he coming?" Sam asks, for the fifteenth time since they laid their bait.

Steve glares at him while Friday patiently answers, "No, Mr Wilson."

Putting both hands up, Sam whispers, "Okay, okay, chill." Steve shakes his head. Sam confesses, "I'm just excited to catch him."

Of course he is. Bucky and Sam are literal children. Unlike Steve. Who's going around laying traps for Bucky. You know, like an actual adult.

-

"How old are you guys?" Tasha demands, one brow up, arched in an angle as she looks down at Steve and Sam.

"100," Steve grouches, scowling at Sam because SOMEONE forgot to shut their mouth and laughed out loud when Bucky tripped over one of the sleeves (hah! Karma) and fell on his arse. Bucky fled. Again.

"24," Sam deadpans. "I'm 29, wanna go out for lunch sometime?"

"Yes," Tasha tells Sam. "No,” she says to Steve.

-

Steve goes to Tony. "I need help."

"I thought the new birdie is your help."

"New birdie is fucking loud," Steve complains, "And out on a date."

That finally catches Tony's attention, as the man pulls his arm out from one of his car engine and wipes off the grease; pausing his work. "You know you can just hide your shirt right? Better security, lock your room etcetera? Who snatched birdie?"

"Tasha," Steve answers the last question first, "Yeah I know, me too, and no. I don't want to lock him out, that would give him the wrong message -"

"Like?"

Steve sighs, mildly vexed that Tony interrupted his flow, "Like, distrust. I don't want to make him feel like I don't trust him with my space or stuffs. I don't mind him using my shirt, I just don't want to lose my left sleeves."

Tony gives him a flat look, "You're aware you're contradicting yourself right?"

"Doesn't matter, Tony," Steve huffs, "I'm running out of good shirts."

"Why don't you rip the right sleeves off, or buy sleeveless from now onwards? Make life for him and yourself easier?"

"No! I don't wanna -"

"Why not? You got guns, he got guns, flaunt em?"

"Tony," Steve stops him, "Are you helping or not?"

"Fine," Tony rolls his eyes. Then he mumbles something inaudible to even Steve's ears but it definitely sounds something like; children.

-

Steve spends ten minutes explaining his plan to Tony before he pauses and asks, “What?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

“Tony.”

“Fine,” Tony holds up his hands, “I’m just saying I’ve got a better plan.”

Now, Steve knows Tony is trustworthy and reliable and Steve do trust him. But sometimes…

“What’s your plan?” He asks critically.

Tony rolls his eyes and holds out a hand, silently asking for another one of Steve’s precious sweatshirt he’s sacrificing for bait. Steve is rightfully sceptical as he hands it over to Tony.

“Now, wait and watch,” Tony smirks, tossing a wink in Steve’s direction.

He’s not hunched behind the corner wall like Steve is, he’s out in the open for Bucky to see so Steve grabs the hem of his shirt and gives a yank. “You’re not hiding,” he hisses.

“I don’t have to,” Tony pats his head like he’s some kind of animal. Steve glares at him.

“Arriving in ten,” Friday pings on Steve’s phone screen.

Steve turns to tell Tony, but that’s when he realises that the man is no longer there.

Panicking, Steve scrambles up on all four, head turning left and right and where the hell did Tony go!?

There! But Fuck.

Tony’s walking right up to Bucky and no matter how angrily Steve hisses his name, he’s not going to get him to come back without giving Steve’s own spot out.

Stricken, Steve watches in silence as Tony stops in front of Bucky with a flirty smile and holds out Steve’s bait (his precious sweatshirt!) for taking. Just like that.

“You seem to have a target painted on your head, snowflake,” He says, smirking like he didn’t just sell Steve out for free. “There,” he says, leaning into Bucky’s space. “Right here,” he boops Bucky’s nose.

Steve gawks. All the past months come rushing to the forefront of his brain as he watches his best pal flushes a healthy shade of pink. What did he miss? Why is Bucky letting Tony do this?

“You wanna let Friday order some shirts for you? All comfy, dark and moody? Right up your alley, eh?” Tony grins, rocking on the ball of his feet. Confident, suave and damn is Bucky falling right into his trap. Steve slaps his face with a hand; ashamed. “Better than depriving Cap off his sweatshirt huh, buttercup? He’s going all cuckoo over it.”

“I know,” Bucky admits (jerk! Steve thinks), scratching his nape, all blushing virgin in front of Tony. “He gets so stupid when he’s angry,” he peeks up at Tony from under his lashes.

The gall of them! Flirting at the expanse of Steve’s ruined closet. That’s it, Steve decides, stepping out from his hiding spot.

“You’re cutting all my left sleeves! Do you know how many good shirts I got left!?”

At Steve’s appearance, Bucky’s entire demeanour shifts into his signature ‘I’m so tired to deal with your shit Stevie’ look.

“You’re being a child,” He rolls is eyes at Steve. Like he wasn’t the one who fled like a wimp.

Steve points a finger at him, opens his mouth and there’s something he wants to say but he fails to finds the words so he ends up looking like a goldfish instead. “I hate you,” he settles.

“Oookay,” Tony tries to step away, but Steve hasn’t even started with him, so he rounds up on him.

“And you!”

Several things happen at once; Tony puts his hands up in supplication, Steve steps closer but Bucky wedges himself in between and gives Steve his stinkiest look.

“You don’t wanna mess with him, Stevie.”

Affronted but challenged, Steve crosses his arms in defiance and asks, “And If I do?”

Bucky huffs, his eyes glaring daggers at Steve as he very pointedly - while keeping his gaze fixed on Steve - grabs the shirt from Tony, stretches the left sleeve out from its body real taught, - Steve can hear him scream; watch, without any sound – he clamps his teeth at the shoulder point and;

R I P


	7. prompt: “you’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?” (buckytony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol, depression, mentions of vomit

Tony has had his fair share of alcohol - never crossed the line because Howard did and he told himself since he knew how to make a wish that he would never be that man. 

But he drank. Bad enough, but never worse than his dad. 

Ageing however, has scraped out his hard edges and shaped him more malleable with every new experience and dare he say: these days, he prefers sparkling juice to actual champagne. 

Even if his lover sometimes tread too close to that line his father used to stand on. 

He turns off the lights, locks the shop and he takes the stairs to the penthouse; what can he say, he's 45, and he's trying to be a better man now that he has a reason to wish for a longer life.

Except his reason used to be a prisoner of war with a fuck ton load of issues that could make his own look microscopical in comparison - which we're not doing here because asking whose pain is worse is just a shitty thing to do in general but it gives a perspective as to why he's slumped against the glass panel, eyes glazed staring at the lone couch in their living room looking severely intoxicated.

Tony read once - will remember it for a lifetime - that depression is a great lover.

Bucky doesn't have Major Depressive Disorder. His diagnosis, until six months ago, was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with depressive tendencies which often comes in a violent surge. 

He knows then, Bucky leaned on those hands more than on his; and it's not Bucky’s fault at all because whenever Tony wasn't there - even if it's a millisecond opening - depression was waiting to grab Bucky for itself. 

And that's neither Bucky’s nor Tony’s faults - Never. 

Maybe Bucky didn't even want those hands, maybe when he needed, they're all he had. 

So Tony tries to be there for him, as much as he can; never stopped trying even during remission. But he had some meetings to attend across the ocean; 5 countries in three days and this wasn’t even their first separation, let alone the longest. He wouldn’t have left if he wasn’t confident. 

Three days ago, Bucky was light. He kissed Tony goodbye and went for his morning jog. Tony packed his bags, left three letters for each day on his pillow so Bucky could feel him even if he's not there and in a worse case scenario, if they couldn't call. 

They called. They talked. Bucky read those letters, and he laughed on the phone. He sent photos of daisies he saw by the road; quoted; _life finds a way in the end_ and that should have maybe warned him. Tony itched, but he never asked. He called Bucky and made sure he knew he loves him, made sure he took his meals, made sure he went down to the communal area so he hung out with his friends and not stayed cooped in the room only. He sent photos and on a whim, a few postcards which would reach later than he already did but -

That's the thing isn't it - But. 

You can do so much to maybe too much but sometimes it just isn't enough.

Tony is 45 going 46 and when he was 15, he realised he blamed himself for everything. When he was 18, he blamed everything else except for himself. When he was blasted away from the humvee and woke up in a cave, he was 15 again but he saw Obadiah Stane burn and he thought: _This isn't how life works_

Relapses happen. 

He's faced enough himself to know it is nobody's fault. Nobody did nothing or too much or too little and that it just happens, sometimes; without triggers, without comprehensible reasons and you move on from there. 

Treat it like an accident; you trip and fall and you get up and then walk into a quicksand and you get up and someone push you down the cliff so you climb back up and you walk thinking finally this is it; this is a safe road with beauty around it and it makes you so hap -

Oh. 

There was a trap. You didn't realise there was a trap there, and you fell and it's shocking but you stand up, dust yourself off and you climb out and you keep walking down that same beautiful road. 

It made you happy didn't it? So you keep on walking. Don't hate it. Don't stay buried. Just - Every time you fall, you know you have to get up again and you learn something new too; like maybe, remember to look down sometimes, check the ground, don't just look up at the sky. 

Point is: Bucky's relapsed, don't know when exactly it happened but Tony knows that that is not the matter of concern. What matters is for them to get up again. 

So he doesn't panic, doesn't mean he expected this. He just knows better about reality. When tomorrow comes, they'd give a call to his doctor, take it from there. As for now he walks across the room and sinks to the floor next to his lover. 

He takes his cold hand, hard metal and he twines their fingers together, keeps their clasped hands on his straightened out leg, leans his head back against the glass panel separating them from the world and he asks. 

"You've been drinking tonight haven't you?"

Bucky snorts and Tony knows he may try all he might but he could never cross that line Howard stood on; his physicality is such. His cells metabolize alcohol too rapidly for Bucky to drown in it. He may sink but he can never drown.

Selfishly, Tony’s grateful. He knows that every time Bucky picks up a bottle he wishes otherwise, but selfishly with his whole heart, Tony sends a whisper of thanks into the air for every quickened metabolic cycle completed. 

He never wants to see Bucky as how Howard used to be; never wants to see anyone there, which was why he himself quit. The mirror helped.

But that doesn’t mean Bucky never tries. When it gets bad, he tries so hard he comes too close to that line. Like tonight.

All he wants is to forget, but he never can. Lucky or not, Tony can understand that too well.

So when he lashes; snatches his hand roughly from Tony’s and stands up, staggering, before he walks only to stop a few feet away, lost - Tony, doesn’t get mad at him.

It hurts, yes. But even hurt, when you can understand the reason, it digests easily in your system.

He gives him a few minutes; stays where he’s sat, counting empty bottles on their dining table; two bottles of vodka and five beers. Bad, but they've seen worse.

When Bucky collapses where he stood; slides himself so his spine presses against the back of the couch, knees pulled to chest, head in his hands; Tony finally stands up. 

He gets closer, but not too close. And he waits. 

Funny no matter how many times you've faced the same thing over and over, you can still be completely unsure how to deal with it. 

This is a man he loves. Unconditionally with the whole of his heart and then some. This is a man he'd give anything for, do anything for and if he so much as sighs, Tony would crumble into nothing. 

There is nothing he wouldn't do for Bucky - That is the fact. 

Yet he stands, doing exactly nothing. 

But this is not the time for self pity. This isn't about him, but them. This is, most importantly, about Bucky. 

So he tears his emotions away, shoves them into a box, closes the lid and he crosses the room to the kitchen. 

He picks a glass, fills it almost to the top with water and he walks back to where Bucky's sat. 

"Finish it," he says. 

And Bucky takes it.

Should have started like this, abandoned soft emotions and gone methodical from the very beginning. But Tony is a weak, weak man when it comes to Bucky and he's only 45; he's still learning. 

He's been on Bucky's side one too many times but less on where he stands right now (Rhodey knows better, or even Pepper). He's got so much to learn and he will. He doesn't have the patience, but he loves Bucky so vastly that training himself to be patient is close to nothing.

Even if it means, he has to clean vomit from his toes, strip Bucky naked and guide him into a tub of warm water and then strip himself and get in with him when Bucky sinks dangerously low to drown himself.

“Lean on me,” he says, meaning a little more than what he needs Bucky to do right then; just place his head on Tony’s shoulder and let Tony hold his weight in there.

He washes him clean, shampoos his hair and rinses off the sud, holding his tongue back all the while. He unplugs the tub and lets the water drain before he gets out, clenching his jaw hard at how Bucky sinks down soon after - couldn't even hold his weight up. 

Truth be told: his heart aches.

But he taps that organ aside and wraps Bucky in a towel; dries him as quickly as he can before he helps him out of the tub and he’s a 200 pounds super soldier - he’s heavy, no kidding, and Tony has lifted heavier things than him, lifted Bucky several times even, so the way his knees buckle is really not from the physical weight - it’s something else.

He grits his teeth and hauls him to the bed. Picks out a pair of boxers then hesitates before pulling out a pair of sweatpants and Bucky’s favourite hoodie; he usually sleeps in only boxers but just in case. 

He pulls the boxer up before he asks, “Do you want the pants?” But Bucky only looks at him blank, meaning he’s dissociating which is -

Tony pulls in a deep breath. Alarm bells ringing all around him. He knows the minute he climbs onto the bed next to Bucky that he is risking his life. But at that moment, he doesn’t care.

He’s not a prayer, never been a prayer, so he never sends a wish above to say: _“Please don’t make this man my killer. I would be glad to die in his hands but he wouldn’t live knowing what he’d done to me.”_

In retrospect, he knows he shouldn’t have worried about that because Bucky prays enough for both of them.

“Come here,” he grunts, pulling Bucky into the bed, wrapping him up in a blanket so he can never feel cold, only warm. Doesn’t wrap himself within; he knows sometimes, too much touch can be uncomfortable, but the way Bucky looks at him when he combs his wet hair back is hungry. So Tony tucks himself close enough and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Hums a song he knew in his bones - from when he was a kid and Jarvis used to put him to sleep after Howard and mum fight - under his breath, waiting for Bucky to fall asleep. But just a few minutes before, something shifts in Bucky’s eyes, like he’s seeping back into reality and when it does, his lashes flutter, his chest expands with a sharp inhale and he knows what Bucky’s going to ask before he even opens his mouth.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” he tells readily. “Only killed five bottles of beer and two vodkas and then emptied it all on my feet and your clothes.”

Bucky frowns, his thought stream seems to stutter in the lagging and when he finally speaks, it’s a hoarse and confused, “'M sorry?”

Tony’s heart aches again but this time he lets it; buries his trembling lips on Bucky’s forehead in the pretend of a long relieved kiss because he _is_ relieved. He is so relieved that he could laugh because every single damned time this happens - he is afraid he will never get Bucky back so when he does; he feels like he could finally _breathe_. 

“No problem, sweetheart,” he whispers into damp curls, combs them back again and kisses the exposed skin. Then he looks Bucky in the eyes and says seriously, “We’re calling Jo tomorrow morning.” Jo being Dr Josephine Iyer.

Bucky’s jaw works, and he nods tightly. Tony presses another kiss because he knows this is hard and he appreciates it but as far as expressing emotions is concerned, this is how far both of them go.

Then he curls himself facing Bucky, both of them closing a bracket of warmth in between and he tells him, “Go to sleep, snowflake. I’ll be right here when you wake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a prequel to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522165)


	8. prompt: Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.(buckytony)

Tony’s golden.

He’s bright and happy, and he’s everything Bucky wants and is going to have even though he’s one hundred percent sure he doesn’t deserve.

Doesn’t matter. Tony wants to be Bucky’s; rolls a gold band up his ring finger to deliver that point to the entire world and if that is his wish then Bucky gladly lets him have it. Slips a ring up Tony’s finger in return and he kisses ‘forever’ into Tony’s mouth.

Then the crowd applauds, and it’s surreal; Bucky could smell hydrangea and roses, make out tulips and lilies as he scoops his husband up in his arms.

There’s happiness all around them and love, love and _love_.

“I love you,” he whispers into Tony’s hair, twining their fingers together, wedding rings meeting in a kiss, and they have their honorary first dance.

Tony’s warm and content, he smells of his favourite shampoo and fancy deodorant. Someone had touched up his face; tempered with his crow feet which Bucky loves and he suspects it’s either Pepper or Natasha or maybe both.

Doesn’t matter, Tony’s beautiful however he is. And now, he is Bucky’s husband.

When they cut their cake; a six feet monster - which in retrospect, never let teenagers take control of anything ever - and Tony goes to feed him a slice, they’re laughing too much so his hand misses and smears cream outside Bucky’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Tony licks it off and kisses the fragrant vanilla into his mouth. Then he leans in close, with an impish glint in his eyes, just to whisper a naughty, “Mr Stark-Barnes,” into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky laughs, giddy with joy, fill to the brim with it, and he kisses Tony back; long and deep, uncaring of the wolf whistles going around them before he winks, “Apology accepted, Mr Stark Barnes.”

And maybe Steve cries during his speech, maybe Jim Rhodes sniffles and Happy blows too hard into his handkerchief, but they won’t talk about it until next week.

This week - This one will be theirs and theirs only.

They’ll fly to an island where nobody can find them and they’ll have each other to their hearts’ content.

Bucky will make breakfasts and bake cakes and Tony can sit on the island and eat when he’s fed. Trail kisses down Bucky’s back, skin naked and sun kissed and they won’t waste time pulling clothes on - won’t even need them at all.

When night comes, Bucky can warm them up, and maybe they’ll get too warm, maybe they’ll sweat, maybe they’ll strain their muscles, pull one or two, maybe they’ll get messy and stain the sheets but refuse to get out of bed.

Maybe when they finally do, all they’ll do is waste time in the bathtub, neck deep in bubble bath for the entire afternoon - They don’t know. Won’t know that until they arrive there.

As for now, Bucky tastes the champagne on Tony’s lips and hums in content when Tony presses “I love you” into his temple.


	9. part 1: losing you would be my villain story (buckytony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this preludes the next chapter

Tony’s staring into space after 78+hours work bender and he’s partly in but mostly out (somewhere cotton wool and smudged sky and a load of indecipherable ‘er’s).

He’s got something in his hand - cool and metallic - and he knows he’s sitting cause he lacks the energy to carry his body weight right now. He’s slowly tuning back into reality when he realises just where his gaze is fixed at (spaced out or not).

Bucky Barnes sits in a corner, crouched in front of his toolbox, next to his unfinished motorbike, clearly working on its construction still.

Something flickers to life in Tony’s body at the sight of another human in his space. I’m not alone, he thinks numbly.

A lot of things come rushing forth - all things heavy and unnecessary to be analysed in the kind of state he is in so he shoves them away hurriedly. This is not his pity party and he refuses to throw one despite what most of him demands.

He’s old enough to dictate his life and pick his choices and he - he -

He needs a hug.

It’s such a juvenile and pathetic desire that makes his breath hitch, takes him back to 17 when he bid Maria goodbye and saw her dead body in morgue next to Howard and fuck.

Fuck, what the fuck is happening to him.

He’s so out of it that he startles violently when Bucky’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Woah,” Bucky says, taking a step back. Eyes guarded and fixed slightly to the right of Tony’s face.

Tony follows his stare and realises he’s got a wrench in hand, held in an offensive stance. “Shit,” he swears. Wrench slipping off to land with a clatter on the floor. “Shit,” he swears again, looking down at it.

His brain is woozy, his palms sweaty and he’s got goose bumps trailing down his neck. He’s running on knee-jerk alert and coffee with helluva lot of touch starvation.

“Tony?” Bucky’s voice comes in like a bad static underwater and Tony looks up.

His eyes fall short, somewhere around Bucky’s massive shoulders and bare arms - he’s got a tank-top on and all his guns out on display - with motor oil smudges and Tony sighs longingly.

He needs a hug.

He used to get them from Pepper but Pepper is neither here nor near and Tony really really wants a hug.

What makes it harder is that he knows all he gotta do is ask and Bucky would gladly give him that. But Bucky also got a crush the size of Pacific ocean on Tony and Tony doesn’t want to exploit that. Even though Bucky doesn’t know that Tony knows.

It’s not right.

But they’re also friends and - well. Friends can hug right?

Tony gulps. Okay, he decides. He looks up a little more until he meets Bucky’s concerned eyes and he realises for real why he cannot do this at all. Why he cannot ask Bucky for that hug.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks. He’s worried as shit and it’s so apparent that Tony laughs at him.

It’s the maniacal part of him, he swears. The same part that makes him sway on his feet until he grabs onto the corner of his work desk as his knees give out on him. He lands painfully on his arse, even if it’s on the bench. Small mercies, Tony thinks faintly.

Bucky comes down with him. All too willingly, on his knees and Tony really cannot do this right now. But nothing’s been fair in his life in forty fucking years so when Bucky asks, “Hey, you need something?” he chuckles and blurts out “A hug, I need a hug so badly right now, I’d kill a fish with my bare hands.”

Odd choices of words but the damage is done because Bucky is looking at him like he cannot believe his eyes now.

Tony has half the mind to snort and roll his eyes. He’s got his mouth open to say “Don’t look at me like that, snowflake,” when he’s wrapped in a very warm but damn, such a nice, honest-to-god good hug.

It snaps his mouth shut and his body melts on its own accord just as his arms move to wrap around Bucky’s bulky torso.

He inhales deep and mumbles a small, “Tighter,” into Bucky’s neck.

His request is granted almost instantly. A little hesitation, but Tony is not going to linger on that. He hugs just as tightly.

Time passes.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve stayed like that but it definitely feels short when Bucky starts to pull away. This is why, Tony thinks. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of - Why he decided to not ask Bucky for hug earlier.

Because -

“Wait,” Tony panics, grabbing onto Bucky tightly.

Bucky freezes in his hold. Going all tense and he never signed up for this. He doesn’t deserve this load but God, is Tony ever so selfish.

“Just a while more,” Tony whispers. Please, he begs silently. “Don’t pull away yet,” and he scrunches his eyes shut tight, fists onto the back of Bucky’s tanktop and he holds on.

Slowly, eventually, Bucky relaxes. He even returns the hug; holding on just as tight and he’s so warm and perfect and Tony had dreamt of being this way with him so often for so long in the deep crevices of the darkest nights that he’s afraid if he lets go, he’ll lose it all.

This is why, Tony reminds himself. This was why he didn’t ask for that hug earlier. Because once he’d got Bucky in his arms, he won’t be able to let go. Ever.


	10. part 2: losing you would be my villain story (buckytony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.
> 
> tw: blood, violence, mentions of body mutilation (basically a decapitated head that’s all)

Bucky’s already in the cradle when he lands; still clad in armour from neck down and he heads straight to where Helen Cho stands, manning the machine. 

“Talk to me.” He orders, not bothering with manners, voice still battle-strained and he’d apologize to her later, buy her a bouquet or something but for now -

“How is he?”

Cho looks ill when she smiles, mouth working around dull words; if she was going for reassurance, it sure looks terrible on her face. 

“Pending on the prognosis. Multiple organ laceration; I just drained his pericardial sac and stabilised his heart -,”

Tony grabs her by the shoulders, he doesn’t want to hear what more medical words she has to throw on him. He says what he needs her to do: “Save him.”

She opens her mouth, and he can already hear bullshit coming forth, “I can’t guarantee you anything at this point. I’m doing my part, his body is doing it’s -,” she wavers, her lashes flutter and then something shifts in her. 

“Mr Stark. You have to understand -,” she starts in a practiced cold tone and Tony, he cannot deal with this now.

Gauntleted fingers dig into her lab-coat clad frame, and he shakes her once before they’re quickly intercepted. 

Natasha’s cool gaze is fixed on him steadily even if she’s holding onto Helen Cho, six feet away from him. There’s someone arresting his arms from behind but he doesn’t care who, doesn’t put up a fight; that’s not why he’s here.

He needs Cho to know her priority. “I don’t care what it costs.” he looks into her eyes and tells her. This is between them and they both know what he means; there’s a vial of perfected extremis in the vault behind the wall. “I need you to save him. Do you understand?”

Helen Cho blinks, comprehension dawning upon her before she suddenly looks sick; lips pressed tight like she’s holding back her words from him. Good, Tony doesn’t want to hear her preach ethical violation to him. But he keeps looking at her until she agrees; because she has to. She has to know that he needs Bucky alive. No bargains in that matter.

Finally, she nods, quickly once. “I’ll do my best.”

And Tony leaves her to it, putting all his trust on her and he doesn’t wait. He has somewhere else to be. He shakes off the hands holding him back, and it’s Steve; his voice echoes his march; a pleading cry of “Tony, don’t!” 

-

Two hours later, he’s standing on the rubbles of what a HYDRA’s bunker used to be. The fat plop of dripping blood onto a blown out wooden plank under his feet slowly stirs him back to reality; wiping his vision off of its angry red and he computes the extent of the damage he’d done with a strange detachment.

For a minute, he stares at his right hand where the blood is dripping from; relaxed in posture, gauntlet still on, fingers fisting around a clump of hair from a decapitated head of someone whose face he recognized flashing on his HUD earlier that day. When he scanned for the bastard who fired that lethal shot. 

Good, he thinks. Good riddance.

His right palm whirs, flashing warning in blue and the satisfaction from blowing that head is -

He pulls in a breath and looks skyward. Directs energy into his thrusters and he flies to another bunker.

-

And another.

-

Three days after, he plugs in the armour to charge in a shitty hotel and stares at himself in the mirror; blank face, shirtless with a bloody abdomen and a bruised shoulder. 

They should have captured him long ago, he realises. He’s been going rogue all on his own, disconnected himself from the team and Rhodey and Pepper and he knows for sure that he’s breaking more law than he’d memorised twenty years ago. Somebody should have caught him; HYDRA or someone from WSC. Maybe even one of his teammates.

And yet here he is, still a free man, staining borrowed towels red from his first flesh wound since he started this vengeance streak. 

Somehow, that just fuels him to keep going.

-

Steve finds him underground in Kazimierz and he isn’t even surprised.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he says, ready to fight, expecting an arrest. 

Steve, however, looks at him all pinched and that is even worse. Tony wants to tell him, _no. Don’t show me that face._ But he doesn’t have to because that look vanishes soon after and Steve nods tightly.

“If you’re doing this,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”

-

In retrospect, maybe Steve follows to keep him in line; if they catch someone alive, he’d say, “Let me deal,” and Tony lets him. He’d already destroyed the guy responsible, here forth if Steve wants to play saint and ease their death, he can go ahead and do it. Tony doesn’t care.

-

Two days later, he finds out what actually Steve wants. Catches Tony numb in the process of washing dirt and the inside of someone’s cheek - from when he’d hooked his fingers too deep - under his fingernails when Steve leans against the bathroom door and says,

“Come home, Tony.”

He turns off the tap and wipes his hands dry with a towel. There’s still something under his fingernails, unwashed, but he ignores that to ask Steve, “Is he awake?” 

Steve couldn’t give him a straight answer so, Tony chucks the towel on the counter, walks past him into the room they're sharing for the night and nods at the bathroom when Steve turns to look at him. “It’s all yours now. Unless you’re leaving, then I suppose you’d prefer to shower at home.”

He tears open the bag of chips, guzzles down two bottles of water before he shoves a handful of bland chips into his mouth. He knows Steve’s still looking, but he avoids his gaze, anyway. Keeps shoving more chips into his mouth even though he’s close to choking and only when he hears the bathroom door close, he stops.

-

They burn the fifth centre to the ground and leave to Chukotsky District for the sixth.

They share a room in another motel that night, vodka warming their insides and Tony shares a piece of him with Steve. 

“I get it now.” He tells him, eyes burning as he stares at his bare feet intensely.

“What?”

Blinking hard, he empties his plastic cup down his throat and looks up. “Why you’d kill for him,” he smirks. Not an ounce of feeling under his skin. 

Steve’s eyes flicker in the dim orange light. He says, “Not for the same reason as yours, no,” and he looks like he got something more to say following that. But whatever it is, Tony doesn’t hear it. 

-

The next morning, he wakes up to Natasha at the foot of his bed, Steve still fast asleep in his own.

She rubs a thumb on the inside of his ankle and joins them for the last bunker. 

“Come home,” she says later, wiping a bloody dagger in the inside of her left sleeve, watching grey clouds burst into the white sky next to Tony and she tells him, “He’s awake, you know. Asking for you.”

-

He’s stuffing clothes into his duffel bag, but hesitates when he’s about to pull the zipper. Not far from him, Steve pauses in rolling his socks. Natasha offs the TV; they’re watching him - both of them - have been watching him since they returned from that bunker.

Tony’s hands shake, and he buries one in his hair. “I’m not coming,” he tells them.

“Why?” Natasha cocks her head curiously. 

Steve plops heavily down on his bed. Its frame creaks. “Tony,” he begins, but Natasha’s fluid movement from the foot of his bed to Tony’s side, stops him. 

Tony’s knees buckle and when he sinks, she goes down with him; leans her head on his shoulder, drapes an arm over and she fills his sense with sweet strawberry smell while Steve looks wearily from across him. 

Tony keeps his eyes fixed on him, his thoughts on the sweet taste of Natasha’s scent on his tongue and he says, “He almost died because of me.”

Steve frowns, scrunching the socks into a ball in his hands, and he corrects Tony stiffly, “He took the hit for you. It was his choice.” 

“Well, he shouldn’t have!” Tony yells.

Natasha’s hand is soft on his cheek when she turns him around to face her. “You would have done the same,” she murmurs, levelled and calm, close to his ear. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched hard, but his words are soft. “We protect what we love, Tony.”

Blinking back hot tears, Tony looks away from both of them and grits out, “He’s an idiot.”

Steve snorts. Natasha presses a smile into his temple, and she suggests, “Maybe he’d like to hear that from you.”

-

Returning home after a week and a half should feel relieving but all he could think is about Bucky and the last time he saw him; bloody in his arms in Central Park and then lifeless in the cradle, and he couldn’t help the anxiety that boils from his chest to the back of his throat. 

That in itself buries his desire to check on Bucky, see for himself how he’s doing; make sure he’s all right.

“I’ve got to answer Pepper,” he blurts out, already stepping away from them; separating himself, and Natasha’s frown and Steve’s disappointed gaze accompanies him all the way to the workshop where he collapses on the couch.

“How’s he doing?” He asks into the throw pillow that smells like Bucky. “Friday?”

“Sergeant Barnes is healing well, boss. Although, he’d do better if he sees you.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t tell her.

“Did Dr Cho use the extremis?” He asks instead, pulse bursting through his arteries. 

When Friday says, “No, boss. There was no need for that,” he buries his head into the pillow and breathes Bucky in deeply; relief spreading like a balm under his breastbones.

“But boss,” Friday carries on, “Sergeant Barnes asked for you.” 

Before she could say more about that, he promptly mutes her.

-

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he’s afraid if he sees Bucky, he’d be accused to be the cause of his near death experience.

Or maybe he’s terrified when he asks why did you do that, Bucky would look at him like he’s an idiot, and say, “Because I love you, that’s why.” and Tony -

Tony knows he couldn’t handle hearing that. His heart would shatter into a million pieces.

So, maybe he’s a coward. Maybe what he’s really afraid of is breaking his own heart - call it a primitive reaction. He is a primate in DNA after all.

-

“Boss, Miss Potts is asking for you.”

“Tell her I’m busy inventing something that could triple her paycheck.”

“Boss.”

“What?”

“Sergent Barn-,”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, but he’s asking for -,”

“Mute.”

-

Maybe he’s running away.

And maybe he’s bad at it.

-

“Jesus.” he jumps, well past midnight, a few days after he’d returned, in the penthouse kitchen, in the middle of his supply raid (because Pepper pulled her rights and cut direct deliveries to the shop).

He’d calculated the risk, knew there was a 95% chance of him being caught by the very person he’s running away from. That’s why he’d planned his approach, carefully ran over it multiple times, asked Friday over and over to make sure no one was in the kitchen.

Should have counted in the fact that his AI is in love with her Sargeant Barnes.

The same Sargeant who asks calmly, “Any reasons you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony clears his throat, drops his hand from where he’d clutched his chest. “Not in particular," he tries for nonchalance.

He didn’t turn on the light, but the silver glint of Bucky’s metal arm is unmistakable; tracing trajectory motion of his leap from the countertop to in front of Tony, infusing heat from their sudden proximity.

“I wanted to see you,” Bucky says, eerily flat, head tilted sideways as his blue-grey eyes study Tony from top to bottom then up. “But you refused.”

Throat clamping around a lump, Tony looks down at his empty coffee mug. At their bare feet and then at the cold tiles they’re standing on. He avoids the topic. “How are you doing?” He asks instead, looking up with false cheeriness. 

Bucky doesn't hesitate before he answers, “Better if I’d seen you.”

And Tony has to laugh at that. Jesus _Christ_ , just how stupidly cheesy is this guy? Except he feels his cheeks warm, and he steps aside to get away with an airy, “Well now that you have, I hope you feel better.”

Bucky doesn't let him (of course he doesn't); blocks his path and his gaze bore into Tony when their eyes meet. Trying to pry something only he knows what and Tony, exhausted after two consecutive sleepless nights, lets him. 

If not for an excuse to allow himself drink in the sight of the man who took a laser to his chest for him and almost died. The man he'd lost his sanity for, killed for and then ran away from because he is a coward. 

His eyes fall on the lower left side of Bucky’s pectoral. If he looks harder, he thinks he could see a dark patch seeping inside out like spreading ivy. He shakes his head to clear his vision.

Bucky seems to read him well. He takes the mug away and catches his empty hand before bringing it to his chest. Then he places it over exactly where that wound had been last week; bleeding viscous blood all over them and when Tony looks up at him, desperate and scared like he was that day, he assures, “I’m fine. Still alive.”

And then, “C’mere,” he tugs. Pulling Tony closer, pressing his palm harder over his shirt clad chest; warm where they touch, and he asks, “Can you feel that? It’s still beating in there.”

And it is - His heart is. All healed and pumping serum tainted blood through his vessels; keeping him alive like he hadn’t been gasping for breath in Tony’s lap just last week. 

“Fuck.” Tony exhales.

Bucky takes it as a cue to pull him into his chest. Wraps him tight in a hug, and he buries his nose in Tony’s hair. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Tony tries to inhale but ends up choking on air. 

“I know.” Bucky repeats. Pressing lips to his forehead and then temple.

When he finds his voice, Tony fists the fabric overlying his left breast, head buried in warmth and he lets out a pained growl. “Don’t ever do that again.”

But Bucky, of all things, chuckles like he'd just heard a joke. “Can’t promise that, doll,” He drawls, grinning like the idiot he is. “If it happens another time, I’ll do the same thing all over again. Gotta protect my best fella,” he winks.

And it drives Tony so mad that he shoves at the man's chest and glares at him, venomous. Fingers shaking in clenched fists, locked inside white knuckles and he spits, “Fuck you.” At Bucky.

For a second, Bucky’s stunned. But something flashes in his eyes and he barks out a laugh soon after. 

"Yeah," he snorts. “Kid you not, I would really like you to.” 

And that - That shocks Tony into a stop; eyes blinking wide with disbelief, he stares at the man in front of him. 

“What?” Bucky laughs, fingers raking through his long hair as he shakes his head and when he looks up again, whatever he sees in Tony, it makes him square up, and he exhales in a rush. 

“Jesus, Tony. Don’t tell me you still don’t know how I feel about you. Choked on my blood and all I could do was look at you like you hung the moon - I saw that footage. The one they aired in the news? Sam showed me that thing, and Hell. The whole world saw how I feel for you baby, and you’re standing here looking at me like you got no clue."

He closes in then, urgent, and he catches Tony’s head in both hands; cradles his face like something precious and leans down to look into Tony's eyes. 

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he pleads. “Tell me you know how you make me feel. Tell me you know, I’m yours.”

And Tony, refusing to be shaken in the face of hopeful eyes and gentle hands - one ice cold while the other blood warm - grabs the back of Bucky’s head in a harsh fist and asks him roughly, “And you? Do _you_ know how I feel about you?”

Bucky blinks then, a slow smile spreads across his face, eyes twinkling with sadistic joy and he grins, “Stevie told me what you did. Said you didn’t spare even one.”

“All of them,” Tony breathes, lungs blooming fresh with the smell of Bucky this close, this warm and he could taste his scent on his tongue with every breath he takes. 

Shivering, he glides his hand from Bucky's nape to the side of his neck, and he yanks him close until their foreheads press. “They can’t touch you now," he whispers into the small space in between them.

“Jesus, doll.” Bucky chuckles, dry and rough, palms pressing into Tony’s cheek, tilting his face up so their breaths intermingle and their noses bump, and the first brush of their skin that near is electrifying. Like stepping on a live wire; sizzling straight into the veins under their skins and it propels them to mash their mouths together in a desperate kiss. 

Giddy as they are with something vile and raw, they didn't care if their teeth clashed in the rush; painful and sharp, or if their kisses were too messy and wet. Their heads are too heady with the taste of their love and they feed it into each other’s mouths, drink it out of them and fuck - They laugh through it all. 

At one point, Tony yanks at Bucky's hair and hums, pressing harder in and Bucky presses equally hard in return. Neither wanting to give; only take, take and _take_ until there’s nothing left and then more.

And they're _greedy_ for contact, starving for each other. Trembling with wants so violent that it bursts through their pores; spilling like white hot lava, burning everywhere their skin touch and maybe they knock several furniture over -Tony doesn’t know for sure. 

He’s too busy getting lost in Bucky and the biting way he kisses, the unforgiving way he squeezes Tony’s ass. Too busy pulling him by the collar, fingers fisting in his hair as he nips back harder, hissing and groaning ‘bedroom’ into Bucky’s mouth, and ‘this way’ as they stumble across the living room, stubbing toes on coffee tables and chairs, stopping to wince and laugh before resuming kissing even more passionately than before. 

Eventually, after they knock over a vase and watch it break into thousand pieces, Bucky hoists him up and walks them to the bed, and it may be emasculating if he was in a different state of mind. But right then, head spinning from Bucky and only Bucky everywhere, Tony lets him have it. 

-

Later, he watches the sun spill over Bucky’s closed eyes, spread from his sleep-slack face to his naked torso and sheet tangled legs and he reaches out a hand to press it over Bucky’s left pectoral. 

Focuses in on the steady beat behind the ribs, listens to the sound of Bucky’s heart work its job; pumping life into his bones and eyes, and spreading pink to his lips and occasionally - like last night - blotting that lovely shade of red from his face to his neck and - 

It’s staggering how close he’d come to lose that; how close Tony had come to lose his mind with that.

_Hours earlier, with kiss-swollen lips and sex mussed hair, Bucky had kissed every one of his fingertip and whispered, “Turned you into a murderer didn’t I?”_

_Tony had combed his falling fringe back with his free hand and easily admitted that, “Losing you would evidently serve to be my villain story. No doubt in that.”_

Right now though, feeling Bucky more than alive under his palm, Tony tips his slack jaw close and kisses him good morning.


	11. prompt: come cuddle (buckytony)

Never in a million years - or more realistically a hundred and two years of his life - has Bucky ever thought God would grant his wildest, dirtiest dream to see his lover spread out on a bed, looking like the sweetest sugar, call him to cuddle with a sultry wink which clearly means something more and hear himself say, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Tony laughs, red tie lying diagonally across his chest, clad in silky baby blue shirt that stretches taught over his torso, suit jacket spilling ink black under him, over the stark white sheet of a displayed mattress. 

"No. Come on," he waves, "Come cuddle with me."

Liar, Bucky thinks. Squinting at the way a pink tongue peeks out for a deliberate lick over Tony's lower lip, in that practiced nonchalance pose Bucky's so used to seeing Tony when he's stripped naked, fucked out raw, and in post orgasmic bliss. 

Swallowing dry, he rasps out, "Fuck off."

Some kid screams 'language!' at the top of his lungs, tiny fingers pointing at Bucky, wild eyes looking at his mommy and Bucky turns just in time to receive dirty eyes from her. 

"Come on, Charles," she ushers the boy away with a haughty accent, turning around from a distance to give one more disapproving look in Bucky's direction. 

Hidden from her sight, still spread out on the Ikea bed, Tony laughs, covering his mouth. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, stepping into the mock room and plopping on the edge of the bed, next to Tony's feet. "Happy now?"

"Blame Steve. Sounds like his influence if you ask me."

"Yeah," Bucky sighs, "fuck him," not caring what to say anymore. Mind still reeling from the sight he'd just seen; Tony. 

He buries his face in his hands and shakes his head clear; elbows propped on his knees, fingers raking through his hair and he glances at Tony from an angle. 

"You can't pull that shit in public, sugar. You're killin' me."

And Tony, his dearest sweetheart, his sweetest fella, catches the end of his tie and brings it to his mouth. Bites it with a devilish grin and he asks, "What? This?"

Bucky buries his face back in his hands and groans, "Now you're really asking for it, doll."

"I am, aren't I?"

Bucky straightens up, scrubs his face raw and he sweeps the perimeter with one quick glance before he lands his hand on Tony's ankle. 

"Wanna get outta here?" He asks, voice lowered two tones, fingers pushing the hem of Tony's pants up; warm skin meets warm skin, curling around the bones of Tony's ankle, squeezing, and he relishes in the slight hiss that comes with it. 

He loosens his grip, rubs a thumb on the inside of his ankle where the imprint he'd left from last night love-making is the reddest and he looks up at Tony. 

Brown eyes blown dark meet him in heat. "How about here?" Tony challenges. 

Bucky presses his thumb pointedly into the bone and he admits regretfully that, "Miss Potts would skin us alive, darlin'. The last time in that gas station caused her too much trouble, remember?"

"When you plugged me?" Tony sits up, scoffing and he’s disgruntled but relenting. 

Bucky smirks, recalling nasty bathroom stall and the lustful urgency that had trumped comfort.

Behind him, Tony scoots closer so his legs are spread out to sandwich Bucky in between, and he wraps his arms around Bucky's neck. Throws himself over Bucky’s back and he props his chin on his shoulder and sighs, "Sure, I remember that."

Bucky hums, his hand cupping Tony's kneecap now that their position had shifted, and he gives it a squeeze. 

Some time passes in silence; them taking in their surroundings and then watching a couple of kids run around, playing hide and seek in various display rooms and Bucky asks monotonously if there's anything else to see in this Ikea place. 

(Which is essentially a big build-yourself furniture shop. Might as well saw the woods himself and start, Bucky thinks, rather than spending hundreds for low quality planks. But Tony had been especially enthusiastic to bring him here so, Bucky came - would follow him to the pit of Hell even.) 

And Tony replies, just as monotonously - distracted by those gleeful children, jaw working close to Bucky's ear, breath fanning hot against the skin of his neck as he clings to Bucky like a koala - that, "Nope, just wanted to lie on their bed and seduce you."

Bucky lets that information sink in. Then he asks, already knowing the answer, "You're not gonna buy this, are you?"

"A four hundred dollars bed?" His voice rises, scandalised, "What d'you take me for, muffin? Your boyfriend's a billionaire."

"He bathes in money." Bucky nods. 

Tony snorts, "That's 1991, honey. Now I just bathe in credit cards. Not very comfortable which makes me want design them to - 

Chuckling, Bucky turns to catch Tony's still rambling mouth in a kiss and effectively shuts him up. 

"Let's go home," he noses his cheek, thrilling from the feel of whiskers on his lips, and he drags his hand down to wrap around exposed ankle. Giving it a squeeze, he husks out a promise, "You repeat that thing you did here in our bed and I'll love you real good, you'll forget your name.” 

Tony shudders, bites Bucky’s earlobe and tugs, and he hums into his ear, "Take me home, sugarplum, and I’ll show you more than that.”


	12. stony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

Tony's not insecure about his height. No matter what anyone - Pepper - says. 

He has the height of a regular American man, perfectly compact with intelligence and extreme good looks all packed in one. And a pair of really perky butt, which he is very proud of - do you have any idea how many squats they cost? - and he'd obviously insured. 

Point is, Tony Stark is a very secure man that he has no reasons to be insecure about pesky things like the height difference between his super soldier boyfriend and himself. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t get riled up when he’s teased about it.

-

"Keep telling yourself that," Pepper sing-songs, side eye-ing the height of the heels of his dress shoes. 

"You bought them!" Tony hissed under his breath while Steve winces from how hard Tony had clenched onto his arm. 

"Sorry, dear."

"No worries."

-

And Steve, that man isn't a saint either. Tony suspects, sometimes, he even does it on purpose. 

"Enjoyed your night?" He asks, post a heavy ass-smooching charity gala. 

Tony lets him unknot the tie, unbutton his shirt and jokes, "With you by my side? Impossible."

Steve snorts, blue eyes flicking up from beneath his lashes and he gives a little shove so Tony would sit. 

It's his thing. Tony keeps teasing him about it being a kink but really both of them know it's something more. Steve likes to undress Tony; take every inch of the clothes off of him, all patient and methodical, from top to bottom. Especially following fancy events like tonight. 

So Tony does, plops on the edge of their bed and lets Steve untie his shoelace. Left side first and then right, leaves him in his socks and dress pants, a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and Steve pulls him upright. 

Props Tony, all 9 centimetre shorter than himself and he kisses him on his forehead. 

Tony, rightfully pissed, stomps on his foot. 

-

Which brings us to three weeks from that night, when Tony - frustrated from trying to reach the topmost shelf for an old file - finally, begrudgingly, accepts Dum-E's offer of a stepping stool after thirty minutes of scolding the poor bot for making fun of his height - Not because he's insecure.

So when Steve comes in - carrying his sketchbook and a blanket, probably planning to spend the rest of his day in the shop with Tony - Tony’s towering over him. 

It makes Tony pause, still standing on the stool, file retrieved - which he hands over to Dum-E - and he smirks. 

"Hey Steve?" He calls. "C’mere honey."

"Hmm?" Steve hums, looking like an earnest puppy from where Tony stands, 5 inches higher than him. 

And Tony, for the first time - because even in his armour, he only ever comes levelled to Steve's height - much taller than Steve, discovers the appeal of the other side. 

Steve, standing shorter than Tony, when he looks up - blue eyes bright behind frames of thick, darker lashes, lips pink and nose sharp - is delightfully precious. 

It's a fresh perspective which blunts all of Steve's sharp angles, makes him look softer, more vulnerable, stirring a different kind of protective instinct within Tony. 

Not the one he gets when he sees Steve getting attacked and wants to blow them into pieces; not as fierce as that. But the kind which he feels in the confinement of their bedroom when Steve curls into a vulnerable ball, seeking comfort from Tony and Tony wants to pull the blanket over them both and shield Steve from everything; even the harshest light or the smallest draft. 

The one that shakes him inside out from how much he loves Steve and it's with exactly that feeling he tips Steve's chin up, and presses a kiss on his forehead. 

"Hey," he murmurs. 

"Hey back at you," Steve grins, vibrant and gorgeous, stealing Tony's breath and he tiptoes, reaching higher for Tony's mouth and Tony lets him have it. 

Cups his precious face in two hands and kisses the glow out of his mouth. Lets Steve wind his arms around Tony's waist and lift him up, walk them to the couch, and lay them down, and - 

Yeah. Tony thinks he can understand the appeal of being taller than Steve. Doesn't mean he's unhappy with his own height - he’s more than secure in his 5’9’’ frame - only now, he can understand why Steve kisses a 43-year-old man on his forehead sometimes, all the while looking at him with googly eyes. 


	13. stony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss

“Are you both gon’ keep doing this thing you’re so keen on doing?” Fury asks, teeth gritting on ‘keen’ as he glares at Steve.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, poker-faced, eyes blank, staring right back at Fury.

Fury looks away, “And you?” He barks. “Mr Stark!”

Tony Stark looks up, exaggeratedly startled from his lounging; one hand over his glowing blue chest and another clutching his phone and he gasps, “Who? Me?”

Steve couldn’t help it, he snorts. Next to him, Tony’s mouth twitches.

Across them, Fury closes his one eye and takes a long deep breath. “Listen here, motherfuckers,” he states, “I do not have time to deal with the repercussions of your scream fights in the middle of streets; in the broad daylight while the media is zeroing in on your grown asses like vultures – Look!” he snaps, blue lights flickering mid-air over his office table and a video starts to play.

It's a footage of their post battle disagreement – which Fury so eloquently called a ‘scream fight’ -; in which Captain America and Iron Man, with their faces exposed, are yelling at each other, hands flying out in accusations and pure temperament.

In the office, Steve sits in his casual wear, back ram-rod straight, still poker-faced but knuckles white, fists clenched on his lap.

Beside him, Tony Stark looks eerily composed; not a single emotion in his face, eyes hidden safely behind his tinted glasses as he continues to rock back on forth in his chair. When the video ends, he looks at Fury. “I’ll talk to Pepper,” he shrugs, “If your PR is incompetent, mine can take over. No need to get all riled up over it - Look, you’re even getting wrinkles -,”

“Stark!” Fury barks. “What I want.” He grits out, one eye dancing from Steve to Tony, “Is for that to never happen again,” he jabs at the screen. “This is not about your image. This is me, being concerned about the state of your team.”

Tony scoffs. Steve on the other hand, flushes with shame. “It won’t happen again,” he tells Fury. The chair beside him creaks and Tony stands up straightening his suit. Steve looks at him expectantly, hoping he’d say something, but he isn’t even looking back.

Instead, he turns around, already making his leave. Steve hastily promises Fury, rising from his own chair and he hurries after Tony.

He catches him outside the elevator, but he waits until they’re both inside, stares at the one agent in there, holding the open button until that agent leaves and he rounds up on Tony.

“What’s going on?” He asks, not bothering to beat around the bush anymore. He’d done it for the last two weeks and he’s tired. “Tony.” He presses when no response comes.

Tony snaps, “What?!” Looking more than affronted; livid. Mad.

And Steve reels back, shaken by the unexpected venom dripping from his friend. Or who used to be his best friend – he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. Not after how everything changed – don’t know what caused it even – after Tony returned from Belgium a fortnight ago, and he started treating Steve differently. Worse than he used to before they were friends – No.

Even then, Tony would still talk to him. Needle him, taunt him or something to get a reaction out of Steve. But this time, he’s just plain ignoring Steve; acting as if Steve isn’t even there and then they were called out for a mission and Steve yelled at him because he was trying to get himself blown up again and only then he yelled back at Steve and now. Now, Steve’s trying to talk to him, ask him what’s wrong, and he’s apparently angry at Steve.

It wouldn’t have hurt if they never had ever become as close friends as they had, but they did, and now it just hurts.

“What did I do?” Steve asks. Ready to amend, do something – anything - to mend whatever he had unknowingly broken to have their friendship back.

Tony blinks, as if he’s surprised; the only genuine emotion Steve ever saw from him today, then he looks away.

Swallowing the sharp pain behind his throat, Steve looks at him and demands again, “Tony. What did I do?”

“Nothing.”

Then why!? He wants to wail. Why are you – Why are we like this? What is happening? What’s going on? – So many questions and he stops to think because he’d learned from the past that when it comes to Tony Stark, he cannot be rash. He needs to properly assess every angle, consider every option before he opens his mouth.

But the problem is, he’s so blinded where he stands that he doesn’t even know if there are any angles around him. What more, what shape or state they are.

He pulls in a breath and declares, “I want to fix it.”

Tony’s gaze snaps towards him. “Fix what?”

“Whatever I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why -,” Steve begins, promptly interrupted by the elevator door opening and he’s so frustrated that he jabs at the door close button and swipes his hand across all the floors; ensuring no interruptions until they reach the topmost floor of the premise.

“Really?” Tony snorts, one eyebrow arched up at a challenging angle and Steve frowns at him.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Tony’s face carefully blanks out and he looks away again before he answers, “I’m not. I’m a very busy man – as a matter of fact I have a meeting to attend in five minutes and you’re going to answer to Pepper when she calls because -,”

“I’ll answer her, don’t worry about it," Steve cuts him off. "Now, you answer me – and don’t lie – why are you avoiding me?”

Tony scoffs, as if Steve’s spouting nonsense, “I just told you that -,”

“You’re a very busy man,” Steve cuts him off. “I know. But you used to talk to me. Since you came back from your last business trip, you never said a word to me, never came out of that lab of yours, refused me access to -,”

“I texted you I was working on something dangerous!”

“JARVIS texted me, Tony. I may be technologically inept but I know when it’s you texting me and when you’re asking JARVIS to do it. You’ve been avoiding me -,”

“I was busy!” Tony hisses, marching out of the elevator as soon as the doors open; glad to rid himself off of Steve.

But Steve doesn’t let him get too far; follows him until they pass by an empty room and he yanks him in. 

“What did I do?” he asks again. Almost begging, feeling that sharp prickling behind his throat ascend to the back of his nose and then his eyes, watery.

“Tell me. I want to fix it.” And he can’t help it when his desperation leaks through, if he sounds like he’s begging, because he is. There is no doubt in that. 

Tony has somehow become the single most important person in his life after he’d given up and accepted that nothing is permanent; after he was robbed 70 years of his life, after he’d lost everything he’d known and was asked to start over and he had been so lost.

He was so hateful; he was so done with everything, numb to the world, apathetic, except for Tony Stark who just couldn’t stop bothering him and time after time managed to rile him up something different. He hated Tony too, once upon a time.

Then things changed. 

Out of all those angry snipes, and jibes, something pure blossomed. They became friends, and it’s the most hard earned relationship in the entirety of Steve’s life, he doesn’t want to lose it. He refuses to lose it. 

Even if this ship wants to go down, even if Tony is adamant to burn it to the ground, Steve will single-handedly fight him for it. 

He can’t lose this. He can’t lose Tony. He loves them too much; loves Tony too much, and he knows how Tony has tendencies to sabotage himself, self destruct in the process, but Steve won’t let him destroy this. Won’t let him destroy them.

He'd already fought himself - burnt his own illicit desires to keep them alive - and he can do it again. 

“Let me fix it.”

Tony’s eyes seem to soften marginally before they harden and he bodily slams Steve up against the wall. Everything happens so quickly then forth that Steve's first conscious thought is: Is he kissing me?

But that’s too late because Tony’s already pulling away; hands still fisted around Steve’s collar, head hung low, hair brushing the front of Steve’s shirt and he exhales, “I can’t,” broken and raw.

Still shaken, Steve reaches to hold Tony’s arm to ground himself, but it only makes Tony flinch and step away from him. One second, he’s a flash of pain and the next, it's cold indifference.

“This is why,” he states, turning away from Steve. “I need time to fix me.”

Frowning, Steve tips his head sideways and asks, “Why?”

Tony’s head whips around to face him, “Why?” he asks back, scandalised, “I just jumped you, you blonde idiot. I’m in love with you! You want friendship while I want to fuck you and then take you out on dates and do that over and over for everyday of my life and Steve. I want to see your face the first thing in the morning, I want to kiss you awake, I want to kiss you to sleep, I want to burn omelets trying to make you breakfasts in bed, I want to hold you, do all those juvenile things teenagers do, bring you to Disneyland, see you smile, see you laugh and I want to be the reason why -,”

“But you are the reason why,” Steve interrupts, stepping away from the wall, into Tony’s space. “You make me smile, you make me laugh -,”

“As a friend!” Tony steps back. “You want me to be your friend.”

When Steve shakes his head and says, “I didn’t say that,” Tony stops. 

“What?” he blurts out, brown eyes blinking wide in surprise. Steve's own chest is blooming hopes like daisies in spring. 

“I love you,” he tells Tony, first and foremost. Because that, is the truth. And important. Then, “All those things you said? Tony. I want them too. I've been wanting them for a very long time. But I need you in my life in whatever way I can have you and if it would only be as my friend, then I was happy to accept it. But, Tony. Trust me. I do. I do want everything with you. And more."

And Tony, he takes in a shuddering breath, leaning into Steve, speechless with his face cradled in Steve’s hands; soft and gentle. Listening to him say, “Don’t fix yourself, Tony. You’re perfect as you are,” - And the part of him he’s been trying to rip off from weeks ago; the part of him that’s so attached to Steve, that needs him every second of the day to breathe, that loves him so bad, pushes him forward and makes him taste those words from Steve’s lips.

Kisses him hungry, yearning and when he’s running out of breath, he pulls back, realises he’s practically wrapped around Steve but doesn’t care. He asks, “Do you want to do this?”

In answer, Steve kisses him back; deep, walking them until Tony’s back hits the wall, head cushioned under Steve’s palm, fingers twining through his hair and he licks into Tony’s mouth, whispers his firm ‘yes’ in there and everywhere over Tony’s face. 


	14. when the wolves howl at night, keep me company, keep me sane (stevetony)

It’s late one night, when Steve had woken with a start, icicles still piercing through his skin when he’d gotten out of his bedroom and wandered into the communal kitchen. 

He didn’t know what he was searching for. He just wanted to get out; from the privacy that felt like loneliness in the dark hours of the night and he needed warmth. Anything, a hot drink or simply turning on a stove top - he just needed to feel the heat desperately.

He fixed himself a cup of coffee; poured it into a mug and held it close to his chest. The aroma itself provided warmth, and he clung onto that. He doesn’t even drink coffee. Never got used to the taste. But there was warmth and there was the scent he associated close to home and it helped.

It must have been some quite some time; him sitting by himself in a dimly lit kitchen with no sound and nothing else on both around him or inside his mind. 

Silence. 

He was alone there too, but there were so many memories made in this space that he barely felt it. Everywhere he looked, he could see one of his friends; playing video games, bickering, lounging, or arguing. He felt surrounded, and that helped.

But he didn’t want to return to bed. The very thought of his room and its emptiness made him shiver.

So, he distracted himself with various memories. Recalled one of their latest movie nights and he focused on that. Got so lost in his distraction that he startled when someone touched his shoulder.

It’s Tony, looking like he’d just stepped out of a business meeting half-way across the world, hopped on his private jet and returned to Steve. 

He’s slightly mussed, sleeves uncuffed, tie loosened and his hair look like he’d run his hand through it many times. 

“It’s just me,” he said, soft and cautious and Steve missed him so much, he abandoned his now cold coffee mug to pull Tony into a tight hug.

Arms wrapped around his waist, Steve mushed his face into Tony’s front, ear picking up the beat of Tony’s heart, skin tingling from the muted vibration of the arc reactor and there’s a garbled raw sound that came out of his chest which he refused to think about.

He breathed. Tony; from his expensive cologne to the perpetual aroma of coffee that had now become Steve’s principal source of comfort and, he _breathed_. 

If Tony found his behaviour bizarre, he didn’t say a word. Despite the silence, he seemed to understand what Steve needed and gave him just that; his presence.

He cradled Steve’s head close until Steve was good to let loose and look at his face. 

“Bad day?”

“Nightmare,” Steve supplied, throat dry and raspy. 

“Wanna go back to bed?”

Steve shook his head.

Tony ran a hand over his forehead, brushing his hair from front to back and he cupped the base of Steve’s occiput, rub a thumb over each of his eyebrows and he looked at Steve for a long while, thoughtful and searching before he decided. 

“Come with me.”

They ended up one floor below, where they played hosts and entertained guests. For a moment, Steve thought Tony was going to challenge him to a game of snooker but he’s guided towards the corner of the room. Where the light from the adjacent building spilled in generously at night and the sun shone brightest in the day. 

It’s the centrepiece of the room. A grand piano. 

“I didn’t know you could play it.”

Tony glanced at him, in the process of rolling his sleeves up after losing the jacket and he chuckled, “Wouldn’t have a piano if I don’t play it would I?” He flung the tie over one shoulder and sat on the bench. He patted the space next to him.

“I don’t know,” Steve obediently sat, “You have various art pieces when you don’t paint yourself.”

Tony laughed, “No. But my partner is an artist. A damn good one at that too,” he whispered into the kiss he planted on Steve’s cheek. 

“I don’t know about that,” Steve blushed, ready with a protest but all thoughts flew out of the window when Tony played the first key. Steve inhaled sharply. 

It’s a beautiful lullaby that Steve could never recall hearing from anywhere. Both haunting in its melody and mesmerising. It’s sad and hopeful at the same time.

When the last note ended, he opened his eyes not knowing when he’d closed them and he looked at Tony. Tony’s already looking at him, a wan smile on his face and he looked exhausted in the night light. 

Steve almost felt bad for keeping him awake. Almost. Because he was feeling particularly selfish tonight and this very memory was priceless to him. He wouldn’t exchange it to anything in the world. Even if that meant depriving Tony off of his sleep a little. 

It’s fine. They could sleep in tomorrow, he thought as he let Tony grab his hand and guide his fingers across the keys. 

But he’d always cared more. He’d always worried more even when he didn’t want to. So he told Tony; whispered them to him, “You should go to sleep.”

“Not without you,” Tony murmured, close to his ear, hot breath brushing Steve’s cheek and Steve leaned into his arm.

“I’m not sleepy,” he confided.

“I know.”

“But you are.”

“I am.”

They missed a note. Tony picked it up for him. Steve turned his head, nose pressing into Tony’s cheek and he insisted, “You should go to sleep.”

Tony stopped. The room stilled in the silence, and he turned to face Steve. Eyes bright even in his weariness and he persisted. “Not without you.”

Steve swallowed, throat suddenly dry and Tony’s gaze fell on his mouth.

“I missed you,” Steve confessed. Rasped it out roughly, and he kissed the corner of Tony’s mouth, then on it. 

Tony’s hand mapped a journey from the tips of Steve’s fingers, over the length of his arm and up his back and he held Steve by his nape, kissed him until he’s breathless and he whispered, “The feeling’s mutual.”

They went back to the piano and teaching Steve how to play it and it might have been an hour or two later when they went to bed together. But this time Steve slept. No nightmares sneaking into his subconscious with Tony’s arms and warmth surrounding him like an armour.


	15. grumpy tony (stony)

“What are you doing?”

Steve looks up, fingers stilling over the keyboard and he breaks into a smile the instant he sees Tony by the door. “Mission report.” he answers easily, the smile giving into a grin when Tony steps inside. 

“Atlanta?”

“And Warsaw,” Steve nods, letting Tony invade his space. He welcomes him, one hand gliding up Tony’s lower back, rubbing up and down soothingly as Tony peers at the monitor curiously.

Tony harrumphs, mood a little grumpy but his arm still finds its way around Steve’s neck and pulls him into his side. “Are you writing the Warsaw one in Polish?”

“No?” Steve snorts, squeezing Tony by his waist as he looks up at him incredulously.

Tony regards him flatly, “Then why are you taking so long?”

“Why?” Steve beams, “Miss me already?”

Tony huffs, “Say that again, I dare you.”

“I rather not.” Steve props his chin over the curve of Tony’s hip. He blinks up at his boyfriends and proposes a random idea, “Wanna sit on my lap until I finish them?”

Tony blinks, understandably taken aback. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s a rather new and odd request. They’re fine with cuddling in front of TV and sharing kisses but sitting on lap? That’s surprising. 

But Tony’s shock lasts barely a minute. His grouchiness returns and he huffs again, short and pissy. He’s still mad about his SI work; something about R&D’s incompetence and the board’s fussiness. Steve doesn’t understand business or engineering but he understands Tony just well. 

He listens as Tony grumbles about childishness and revolting level of cheesiness as he gently shoves Steve away from the desk and casually sits himself on Steve’s lap; defiant and petulant. 

Steve bites back his glee, lets his grin stretch as wide as it can get as he hugs Tony by his waist and kisses his nape. 

He wheels them back into a comfortable position in front of the laptop and props his chin over Tony’s shoulder to get a good look at the screen and he returns to his work. 

A while after, Steve’s halfway through his second report and Tony’s fully relaxed on his lap - head leaned back into Steve’s chest, nose nuzzling under Steve’s jaw and he’s got his eyes closed, got Steve believing that he’s fallen asleep - when he murmurs, soft and sleepy, “Thank you, I needed this.”

The typing stops and Steve glances down. Soft brown hair tickling his lips as he presses a kiss over Tony’s forehead. “You’re welcome,” he whispers, “I love you.”

Tony hums, low and faint and he mumbles back, “Love you too,” into Steve’s neck. 


	16. prompt: "i'll keep you warm" (stony)

Steve is something else. 

Well, he's many things in the sense that you see or hear him do that and be like, yeah. That sounds like Steve. 

But then, there are other things he'd do and nobody would buy Tony when he says: "Steve did that! I swear, Pepper, I'm not exaggerating."

Like right now, coming into the workshop wrapped neck down in their comforter which -

"What are you doing?" Tony asks, jaw slack, voice high and airy in disbelief, mouth agape and eyes wide behind his safety goggles. 

Lucky for him, he created JARVIS when he was 21 and had a stroke of brilliance in the middle of an ugly grieving so he doesn't have to suffer a third-degree burn from a hot glue gun today. 

Steve though, he plops in front of Tony with his massive comforter wrapped form and burrows into it deeper, letting only baby blue eyes peek out like a damned mole - Jesus _Christ_ \- and he whines, "I'm cold."

Tony's mouth snaps close at one. His eyes narrow and he points the glue-gun at Steve. "You," he says, "You, you, you. I know exactly what you're doing."

But Steve is a stubborn, stubborn man. He makes sure he gets what he wants by the sheer force of his will if that's what he's left to give. Or maybe it's Tony who's a weak dumb man when it comes to Steve.

Either way, Steve purses his lips, bats his lashes and tilts his head at an angle. All the while looking at Tony with those baby blue puppy eyes and that's all it takes for Tony to drop the glue gun and groan into his hands. 

This is not fair! "Jarvis, I need this footage to show Pepper tomorrow morning," he says, standing up. 

Steve straightens up, letting his whole head pop out of the blanket burrito he'd wrapped himself in and Tony makes it a point to chuck his goggles with an extra dose of venom while glaring at him. 

"Captain America, they said. Prime man full of virtues, my ass. This!" he points at Steve's exaggerated innocent face. "This is not virtue. This is playing dirty."

"But I'm not Captain America," Steve grins, dropping the facade as he waddles clumsily behind Tony, marching out of the shop; the extra length of the comforter dragging like a tail behind him. "I'm Steve Rogers, making sure my boyfriend comes to bed on time."

Tony waits until they're inside the elevator to stare him up and down and he lets out a defeated sigh, "Still not fair."

Steve smiles, smug and well - he has a very good reason to be, no shit. "All is fair in love and war," he says, chest puffing out in pride.

"No," Tony draws the line. "You say that one more time and I'm going straight back to the shop."

The effect is instant like he'd flicked a switch and Steve goes from a smug bastard to his faux innocent puppy eyes burrowing into his comforter wrap.

"But I am cold." He mumbles into it, blinking up at Tony. "I need you to warm me up."

And the elevator door opens, but Tony has already made up his mind quicker. "Are you now?" He pouts back, cocking his head sideway, playing into whatever his boyfriend's doing.

But the wiggle to his lips betray his mischievous intent spectacularly and Steve's already one foot out of the elevator by the time Tony lunges for him. 

Super soldier and their super speed: "Come here, you!" Tony calls, breaking into a jog and God forbid, he'd lived close to half a century of his life; Steve even worse, but also not. He's 33 if they're counting out the years he'd spent in the ice. Still old enough to not run but he is; bolting into their shared bedroom like the devil himself is at his tail, chuckles like chiming bells following his path. 

And no, Tony thinks, after the first few feet. He refuses to play chase at this age, but not so much to tickling Steve in the bed once he'd caught up. Asking, "You want me to keep you warm? Huh? Is that what you want? I'll keep you warm. Come here, you big blonde cheat." 

All the while Steve's laughing into the pile of comforter he'd shed as soon as he'd accomplished his mission, twitching with every poke and jab to his flanks.

"Uncle!" He gasps. "Uncle, uncle, uncle!"

And Tony lets him go. Breath heaving as he rolls off of Steve, brushing hair out of his eyes. "You asked for this." He tells his panting boyfriend; red in the face, hair mussed, spilling soft all over his face and he looks so precious that Tony has to just cup his face and smack a kiss on his grinning mouth.

"You win," he admits, rolling out of the bed and peeling off his shirt, letting it fall in a lump on the floor as he walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

"This time!" He shouts back just to make it clear, so Steve doesn't get any wild ideas about fooling Tony again in the future.

He thinks he hears a faint "Every single time," but promptly decides to ignore that. 

* * *

**-//- vers 2 -//-**

“Come here,” Steve says, stretched out in bed looking expectant like everything’s perfect.

Any other time, Tony would have leaped at the chance. He’s never been a guy for picket fences and happy endings but sitting in one of Barton’s kid’s rooms changes perspective. 

If you look out the window, you can see the barn cum garage and Tony’s been there earlier this afternoon, checking on their tractor, speaking with Fury about stuff and he’d came out of there for hours now but there was a thought he had when he was still inside: 

_Wood fire is great; Steve could chop the logs and I can work the tractor. We’ll have to discuss who cooks dinner, and there’ll be a kid, a boy running around calling for us, maybe. One day - Maybe._

And that thought’s still swimming in his head. 

The thing is, they’re still raw from battle. Just hours ago, they’d almost had a fight (if not for Mrs Barton) and now, Steve’s here on a single bed pretending like that didn’t happen, calling Tony for a cuddle.

“I’m fine.” He says, turning back to the gauntlet he's fiddling with under a low table lamp, straining his eyes behind his glasses.

It’s late summer but something about the secluded farmhouse in the middle of nowhere makes the wind chiller. And his body responds with a shiver when a draft passes by. He looks up, checks the window and he knows it’s closed tight; he did that a minute ago. 

“Tony,” Steve sighs, sounding closer than before and when he looks up, he’s right; Steve is closer, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed now - Didn’t even hear him move, which is a surprise, so Tony looks at the bed frame, wondering what material it’s made of. 

“Tony,” Steve calls again. Softer.

He looks up. Steve looks weary, but he strains to smile. “Come to bed,” he says. “You need rest.”

And Tony knows he does, but- 

But, he doesn’t deserve to rest. He is the reason why all this happened - is happening - in the first place. He caused this - How can he rest?

He goes back to the gauntlet.

And he forgets just how stubborn Steve is until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Then another lands over his, before he can even turn around, to pry the gauntlet from his fingers. “Come on,” Steve says, pressing the words into his temple.

With one hand, he frees the tiny wrench from Tony’s grip while he holds Tony’s head to his mouth with the other, pressing a kiss and he combs his hair back, leaning away, looking into Tony’s eyes when a shiver wrecks down Tony’s spine.

“It’s kinda cold tonight,” he smiles, soft eyes tempting like whiskey on a lonely evening, “Warm me up?” and Tony has to roll his eyes at that.

“What are you? 12?” he snorts. “Is this how you flirt, because Rogers you better count your lucky stars you landed me for your boyfriend. I let you get away with this. Anyone else, I doubt they will.”

“I got blue eyes and blonde hair,” Steve shrugs and it’s lame; Tony knows what he’s doing, knows it’s working, but it’s not like he’s fighting against Steve’s efforts, anyway.

They’re lame; could be better. But it’s past midnight in some unregistered region on earth and they’re tired from fighting his own creation, tired of arguing; it's a picket fence farm with children and everything feels like fairy dreams here. 

Tony doesn’t do fairy dreams but Steve makes him want to. He makes him think: _maybe - one day._

Maybe that’s why he lets Steve have that satisfaction of pulling him up to his feet and onto the bed.

Maybe that’s why he lets Steve tuck his head under his chin and says, “I’ll keep you warm, super soldier.”


	17. stony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead

Newton’s Third Law of Motion states that for every action, there is an equal (in size) and opposite (in direction) reaction.

That is a roundabout way of saying, the reason Tony is a bastard is because Steve is equally a bastard. Now, who started first is a chicken or egg question which we’re not going to even attempt to tackle.

But the result of that law is Tony cracking his eyes open - from where he lies on Steve’s lap - the minute Steve answers his phone with a serious ‘Rogers’ (which means it’s either Fury or Maria) and getting an evil idea.

You see, this is entirely Steve’s fault (“He started this!” Tony would claim, but remember: chicken and egg.). Last night, he walked into the shop with the noble intention of getting Tony into bed at an appropriate time - a sweet, concerned boyfriend, blah, blah, wonderful. 

Except, his method of interception had been to press closely behind Tony while he’s running an important calculation and start trailing kisses from Tony’s nape up to his jaw and then nudging his head aside to reach for his mouth, husking, “I need you now” with each stroke of his tongue. 

Dirty. Considering how nothing spicy happened once they reached the bed; Steve tricked him to sleep with the persuasive superpower he shot from his big blue puppy eyes. 

Hence why now, Tony starts walking two fingers from the high of Steve’s thighs to his hip, slipping them under his shirt and smiling sweetly when Steve looks down at him.

“I don’t see why that is a problem,” He mutters into the phone, narrowing his eyes.

Tony’s smile wobbles thinking about tickling, but he decides to be merciful and sneaks his whole head under Steve’s shirt instead; stretching the fabric dangerously tight as he mushes his face to Steve’s abdomen.

He chuckles when Steve lets out a high sound promptly turning it into a low grunt, as if to let the caller know that he’s listening.

He feels Steve’s hand push his head down, chasing him out, but the force is weak indicating there is still a give which Tony obviously leans into and blows a raspberry over Steve’s navel.

This time, Steve really shoves hard and Tony comes out with a silent cackle and still present evil glint in his eyes. 

He looks at Steve and sees Steve glaring which is brilliant because that is exactly the encouragement he needs to start returning last night’s play; sitting up and peppering kisses from an exposed clavicle up his neck and nuzzling some, nipping another, circling wet tongue right under Steve’s ear which is his main erogenous point.

“Can you call back later?” Steve grunts, accidentally letting out a heavy sigh at the end of the sentence as if he’s coming out of a heavy duty labour. Which makes the caller pause for a good two seconds. 

Then - Tony is close enough to hear them now - Maria Hill impassively asks, “I suppose you’re preoccupied with matters more important than the President’s life now?”

Tony lets out a loud bark of laughter, immediately clamping his mouth shut with his hand.

Steve looks venomous when he bites out a clipped, “Yes,” ending the call soon after.

Acting quick, Tony grabs his face the instant Steve opens his mouth, and puts a stop to whatever he’s going to say by kissing the life out of him.

He smirks when he lets go because Steve looks properly dazed, before a pout settles on his face.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” he asks, pretty face screwed up looking all adorable.

“Oh please,” Tony chuckles, mouthing at his chin as he climbs onto Steve’s lap with intent. “You don’t care what Maria Hill thinks.”

“No,” Steve huffs. "But -,"

Tony intercepts him with another kiss; a little sharp with teeth this time, murmuring, “Nu’uh. Don’t wanna hear. You still owe me for last night.” As he noses at Steve’s cheek.

Steve inhales sharply in that small space between them, blue eyes sinking rings in the sea of darkness.

Then he husks, fingers digging into the flesh of Tony's ass to pull him flush against himself, “I said: I _needed_ you,” he enunciates, “Didn’t say it was for sex," he smirks.

Tony winds his arms around Steve's neck and asks, "How about now?". And he can feel the answer pressing against him, can feel his own pressing in return.

So when Steve bucks upwards once with a shudder and tips them over onto the couch, he goes smugly and eager.

Newton's Third Law of Motion or not, sometimes being a bastard is fucking worth it.


	18. buckytony - if passion has a name it would be yours

Bucky Barnes loves people.

He genuinely loves them; the way they interact, the way they act and react and all of their emotions especially their unsurmountable  _ passion _ – Witnessing that in itself can be electrifying.

Secretly, Bucky wishes he could taste that much passion at least once. 

Subconsciously, he seeks them out in people he’s around – Hoping even if it’s not his own, at least, someone would be kind enough to share theirs.

-

When he first tries to acclimatize to the ecosystem in the Avengers tower, he sticks a lot with Bruce because Bruce oozes tranquillity.

Bruce has weekly tea dates with Natasha, whom Bucky kinda remembers but also kinda doesn't. But since he's leaving all those memories behind and moving on, he doesn't wallow into that part of his past too much. 

He joins them on their tea dates. Natasha later invites him for Yoga sessions and once Bucky is confident enough to be alone with her, he joins her.

They practice various poses for hours and at the end of each session, Bruce will pop in to lead them through meditation. Which is all good; a reliable system in the building if you ask for Bucky’s opinion.

But Natasha occasionally goes on missions and Bruce on some personal trips; sometimes both of their trips coincide and Bucky's left fending for himself.

These are the times when he pops out of his room, feet padding in the direction of boisterous laughter which comes from Sam Wilson and Clint Barton; resident's children.

They teach him how to play video games and curse in 21st century slang. He learns slurs and cuss words which he then practices on Steve for personal entertainment.

There's also Miss Potts who flutters in and out of their life like a hummingbird.

Bucky first meets her on an early Monday morning; sitting alone at the communal kitchen table talking to herself (which he later learns was to an earpiece).

She's thoughtful in a way that nobody else is.

She loudly complains about Tony Stark while jabbing at the coffee machine pointedly, making sure Bucky could see what she is doing - And he realises half-way through that she is teaching him how to operate the machinery without being obvious about it.

She's lovely; Bucky likes her very much.

He also likes Jim Rhodes; whom is worse than Miss Hummingbird. 

Who visits during the Memorial Day, gets stupid drunk trying to out drink Stevie then uses Bucky as his beanpole for the entire afternoon recounting all of his favourite military tales until he passes out.

Bucky doesn't mind; Colonel Rhodes smells nice under all the alcohol and he makes very funny jokes. 

There’s also the fact that Tony Stark loves him very loudly and proudly.

Like Stevie, he thinks; Tony Stark is Colonel Rhodes’ Stevie (Or maybe it’s the other way around, Bucky needs more time to figure that one out.)

Harold 'Happy' Hogan catches Bucky stepping out of the tower one night and offers to drive him in one of Stark's long weiner cars. When Bucky says no thanks, he crooks a finger and shows him where the motorbikes are.

"Are you sure...?"

"As long as you don't crash," Happy tosses a set of keys and Bucky accepts it, reluctantly.

But the ride he gets that evening is both soul-shifting and addictive, and he feels more reluctant returning the key when it ends.

“Never mind,” Happy tells him, “These are accessible any time, just ask JARVIS for them.”

And Bucky thinks Happy is cool that way. So, when he's coming home from long rides then on, Bucky makes sure to grab burgers with extra fries for him. Happy likes them curly; Bucky remembers that too for him,

Bucky meets Tony Stark on the battle-field for the first time. Static, machine-modulated voice tells him to watch his "sexy six" and Bucky blushes three shades darker under the afternoon Sun.

Later, after long countless observations, Bucky learns Tony Stark flirts like he breathes; no intentions what-so-ever beneath his wicked tongue.

But Bucky's got a heart too tender just blooming out of ash like baby phoenix and he couldn't help but get deeply affected by each one of those passes Tony throws at him.

He blushes like a red rose in July; warm and pretty and everyone notices the weakened state of his knees.

From Bruce to Natasha to Stevie, Sam and Clint. Hell, even Happy and Miss Potts could see past his breastbone where his heart flutters out of control when Tony Stark is around.

Come Halloween, Colonel Rhodes passes through; staying for one night and in the span of less than five hours he's been around, he corners Bucky in the kitchen and asks him what his intentions are.

Bucky stutters through his response; even apologizes for his over-reaction to Tony Stark's meaningless flirtation.

But Jim Rhodes cocks his head right and squeezes his arm. He says if there is anyone he'd trust to make his Tony happy, then it would be: "You, Sergeant Barnes"

Colonel Rhodes flies early on November 1st, but his words stick long and hard in Bucky's brain for weeks on end.

Then one day, an idea strikes him.

He rolls out of the bed with a sense of urgency; sending texts to both Bruce and Tasha, apologizing for not being able to make it to today's tea session and he hops into the elevator; pulling his shoes on, one after another.

"The workshop please, Mister JARVIS," he requests.

He knows Tony's in. Heard him talking to Miss Potts this morning about clearing out his schedule and Bucky hopes with all of his beating heart that his plan wouldn't face any rejection from Tony.

Stepping into the shop, breathless from all the emotions boiling in his chest, Bucky blurts out: "Come out me."

Tony stark; stunned behind his protective eyewear, arms bare through his singlet, drops the welding torch he's been manning with a loud clang.

"Now?" he asks.

Not  _ 'Are you kidding me?' _ or  _ 'No fucking way' _ ; but,  _ 'Now?'  _ he asks while wiping his fingers on a cloth, looking ready to follow like he’s been waiting for Bucky to come around since ages ago.

Bucky grins at him. "Yeah," he nods, "It’s cold, you should wear my jacket." He tosses the extra pair he'd grabbed from his closet and Tony catches it with an ease and an amused grin.

“ _ Your _ jacket, Sergeant? I could swoon.”

“Good,” Bucky says, watching him pull it on. “I was hoping you would.”

Ten minutes later, they're speeding on the freeway on one of Tony's bikes; late Autumn breeze licking where their skins are uncovered and it's freezing cold. But Bucky could only taste the warmth from Tony’s body plastered against him; his arms, tight and securely locked around his midriff. Like bursts of sunlight in a snow-storm.

They stop for dinner at one of the diners Bucky had been to twice before - could vouch for their food - and he's more than glad when Tony wipes his plate clean with the last fry.

When he packs for Happy like he usually does, Tony watches him with a curious kind of softness in his brown eyes; so, Bucky shares their little story with him.

On their way back home, they pull over at the side of the freeway that’s shaving the top of a small hill overlooking a neighbourhood and it’s guarded by a long silver railing which Tony hops over; waits for Bucky to follow with his hand out-reached for taking.

Bucky grabs it; clutches onto like a lifeline, at the same time, a fragile china, and they shuffle down the grassy slope; mouths split in wide grins, chuckles bursting out of seams and when Tony comes to a stop somewhere in the middle, Bucky does too.

"It's not always you get to see stars," Tony says, fingers tangled with Bucky’s like he wants to be and he's  _ beautiful _ ; eyes cast skyward, wonder glimmering in their warmth, lips curved in a soft angle -

He looks like the star itself has descended to earth; burning bright before Bucky's eyes and - Jesus Roosevelt Christ. What kind of heaven is that? Bestowed on Bucky, like a blessing beyond any worth and he doesn't know what to do with himself right then. 

_You leave me breathless:_ he aches to say. _You make me feel blessed beyond what I deserve, make me feel more than I know I ever could and it would be my goddamn honour to love you, I swear - Would be my Goddamn fucking honour to love you, sweetheart._

But he doesn't say all that; would have choked on his tongue before he could even manage half of them out, so he swallows his spit and watches Tony watch the stars until his swollen heart explodes into confetti rain in its cage and -

And then, Bucky  _ breathes _ ; inhales lungs full of cold air prickling like icicles throughout his chest – shuddering, and when Tony looks down from the night sky at him, Bucky cups his jaw with trembling fingers and strokes his cheek with a thumb.

"You drive me insane," he tells him. "But you also keep me sane.”

“You’re like Bruce with his tea and Tasha with her Yoga. You’re what Sam and Clint describe how they feel when they play video games, or how Stevie says drawing makes him feel. You make my heart hop a mile like a bunny rabbit but also soothe me like balm, and if that’s how it feels to be passionate in life, then you’re my reason why.”

The stars blink up in the sky, the sound of the traffic along with the bone chilling November breeze witness Bucky empty his soul for Tony to take in the middle of a hill slope, somewhere upstate. 

But Tony, he's silent; for the first time since Bucky had known him, he's holding his tongue. And Bucky wishes he doesn't. 

Wishes, he would say something; anything at all. Or he would smile, or grin, and let Bucky taste passion for the first time from his tongue - One that is his own for a change, not someone else's. 

But neither happens;  _ nothing _ happens. 

Tony doesn't say a word or show any signs of either acceptance or rejection; even if his breath catches in a sharp inhale exactly one time and he presses his hand over Bucky’s on his face. 

But neither could count in the face of how violently Bucky had cleaved his gut open for Tony that night.

They get on the road again soon after and Bucky's skin starts to itch from growing worries; wondering if he’d crossed a fine line between them because Tony's silence is eating him alive.

He stays pressed close to Bucky’s back for their entire ride home; hands locked tight over Bucky’s midriff and somewhere in the middle, Bucky feels the heat of Tony's cheek through his leather jacket; pressed between his shoulder blades, injecting trickles of hope into his spine.

When they reach the city and later the tower; when Bucky pulls into the garage and turns off the engine, neither of them gets off the bike.

For Bucky, he pretends the journey's still not over so he could savour the warmth plastered onto his back just a little while longer.

As for Tony, Bucky finds out why he’s staying when the locked arms around his waist breaks and one of the hands wander upwards; coming to rest over where Bucky’s heart trips and races; the prickling sensation along his nape doubling and he stops breathing all at once.

When he does inhale, his spine bones shudder from the forceful way he sucks in a breath. Evidently feeling the tremor, Tony chuckles close to his ear and tells him to, “Take it easy, James. I’m trying to feel if you’ve told me the truth, or made up a beautiful lie.”

A giddy exhale escapes Bucky’s chest in a soft puff air. Feeling suddenly bold just from that statement, he leans back into Tony’s hold and presses his own hand on top of his.

And he savours the silence along with the sweet scent of Tony tinged with metal and grease, and Bucky could swear, he feels Tony’s heartbeat through the layers of their clothes. From behind their ribs and flesh and through their lungs, and it feels like the meat of their hearts have merged into one; singing to the same symphony in the womb of their home.

Later, once the tune has sunk into his marrow, Bucky quietly asks, “What’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

Their hands still lay, combined over Bucky’s chest and it’s heaven to be this close with someone you ache for – Bucky knows. He never forgets to count his blessings these days; he just hopes that this one never finds its end at all.

If he could whisper a wish into the air, he’d ask God to let them stay this way forever. But this goes both ways, and Bucky may be selfish but he’s not entirely cruel; he wouldn’t subject Tony to what he doesn’t want.

So, he gives him another out; prods, “Am I a liar or am I not?”, when Tony doesn’t answer him the first time around.

But Tony seems to desire what Bucky wants – Which. What a miracle is that?

He says, “Shh, James Barnes. Let’s just stay like this longer,” and Bucky’s poor heart, in all of its new born tenderness; speckles of ash still present from when it was reborn like a phoenix - Finally, finds its wings and _ soars  _ high _.  _


End file.
